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#and this universe is going to collide into another and does it all truly matter in the end?

veryace-ficrecs · 10 months

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Spiderverse fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

I can't guarantee there aren't any spoilers for the new movie!

Superhero Adoption Agency by brushstrokesApocalyptic - Rated T

Jefferson Davis realizes that Spider-Man is a child, and is determined to put an end to his recklessness. Miles disapproves.

It’s a School Night, Why are You Out Saving the World? by TechnicolorVocab01 - Rated G

Jefferson Davis can’t lie to himself, as much as he tries. He and Miles have always butted heads-- his son just has this carefree, unfettered approach to life that Davis' strict, no-nonsense methods seemingly have no place in. A large part of him loves Miles for that, truly, even though sometimes Jefferson feels as if he's just slowing him down. But now, with Miles away at school on weeknights-- seemingly always busy with something or another-- Jefferson has never felt that gaping space between himself and his son yawn wider. Enter the new Spider-Man. A free-spirited kid, five foot nothing and standing between the whole city and danger as if it’s his job, breaking a long series of minor laws with careless ease, and giving a certain cop heart palpitations on a regular basis. Jefferson Davis can’t lie to himself anymore. No matter how much he hates vigilantes-- especially of the masked variety-- a child is a child. And a dad is a dad.

what's up danger by tempestaurora - Rated T

Gwen snorted. “You and Miles would get along-” A smile appeared on her face, growing wider. “You wanna go on a trip?” “A multi-dimensional trip.” “The only fun kind,” she agreed. Gwen turned to him, her smile large and coaxing. “It’ll be great. I’ll get you back here as soon as you want – but it could be fun! Meet Miles, maybe another Peter if we have time.” Peter really wanted to go to another universe, let’s be clear. But he a) had homework, b) didn’t need his brain to melt out of his ears, and c) had a dinner to get to in three hours. He totally ended up going to another universe.

spiderman loves you by owlinaminor - Rated T

Or: how to figure out if your son is actually Spiderman without letting him know that you suspect he’s Spiderman because you want to make sure you’re right about him being Spiderman before you ground him for the rest of his adolescent life.

@heyitsspiderman by meggannn - Rated T

@heyitsspiderman: people act like they know this city but when i’m in the air i find more boroughs all the time. so far ive counted ten. dont listen to big brother in your ceiling (google) telling you otherwise (google maps)

Spinsta (Spidey Insta) by Ravenesta - Rated T

There are things that Jefferson Davis simply does not understand. He's starting to, though.

the family brooklyn by tactfulGnostalgic - Rated T

Series: 4 Works

New York is notoriously protective of its superheroes.

New Moves by WildInkling - Rated G

"Miles needed something else - he needs more moves, he needs new moves. Watching old Spider-man videos on Who-Tube was not gonna be enough." Or: Miles Morales takes up ballet.

Down the Waterspout by Mockingone - Rated T

Peter Parker hightails out of the particle collider with Miles Morales tucked under his arm. Or: Spider-Man lives, and the consequences thereafter.

One New Message by loveydoveywlw - Rated G

"When his dad finds out about him being Spider-Man, it's not in any way that Miles has hoped it would happen." Jefferson finds out about Miles's secret.

Niṣkalaṃka by HydraNoMago - Rated T

“I’m not stupid,” Pavitr retorted stubbornly. Hobie pulled back to look him in the eye, thumbs grazing across Pavitr’s cheeks, dragging frustrated tears along them. “Pav,” he began, but halted to find the right words. He inhaled shakily. “Okay Pav listen, please. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.” “What do you mean–” Pavitr, the Spider-Man who strives for perfection; meets Hobie, the Spider-Man who skews perfection. (A character study into Pavitr, and the progression of his relationship with Hobie. No one dies, everyone moves forward.)

live, laugh, love & sleep by hopeless_hope - Rated T

Being a superhero and traveling the multiverse is exhausting work. So is being a student. You can't blame a guy for always falling asleep. or Five times someone finds Miles sleeping and one time they can't wake him up.

#veryace recs #spiderman fic rec #across the spider verse #spiderman #miles morales #jefferson morales #hobie brown #pavitr prabhakar #ao3 #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #peter b parker #peter parker #across the spiderverse

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altschmerzes · 1 year

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📝 share an unposted snippet? (preferably of my dead are mine and yours as well as mine because i am way too obsessed with it lol)

YESSSSS, GLADLY AND WITH GREAT RELISH I WILL DO SO

clip from chapter 6 of my dead are mine (post gt9 resurrection fix it but break it worse first fic) under the cut

“You see,” Abigail says, a little pointed but not unkindly so, “just my saying that was enough to cause a brief distortion. If you intend to enact such a plan, you’re going to need the world around you to remain stable while you do so. If you can’t even speak about her without this place disintegrating, it seems to me that you’ll have a great deal more trouble enacting her resurrection.”

Truthfully, Harrow has no idea what to do or say. Her head feels as if her skull has been split open and her brain emptied from inside of it. There’s even a sharp, pulsating pain at the seam of her occipital and parietal bones to complete the impression. The thing is, Abigail is right. Harrow does not want her to be right, but the universe has never for a moment considered what Harrow wants, and it does not seem inclined to begin now. She grits her teeth, purses her lips hard together, and stares at Abigail as if she might be able to will the woman to never mention the matter again.

“So,” continues Abigail, the near-glare rolling off her as if she can’t even see it, “while you and I continue on our journey in search of Palamedes, I think it would be a rather good idea for you to tell me about her. Your cavalier. Starting with, maybe, how old was she?”

Harrow is far from at a loss for what to say to that. In fact, many options travel through her mind at once, all at risk of colliding with one another. In the end, what she says is simple and shameful. A confession, of a sort.

“She was eighteen,” she says, “and she was not my cavalier.”

They’d put so much into hiding it, so much into keeping that secret on pain of the worst of fates imaginable. What threat did that truly hold now, though, when the worst fate has already come to pass? It’s funny how this secret that Harrow carried inside of her like a bomb hasn’t detonated the way that she always assumed it would. It lands between her and Abigail with such a faint whisper that it’s almost a letdown. She feels cheated of an apocalypse, having spent so long preparing for one.

“Well,” Abigail says eventually, when she’s regained her voice after the surprise the admission caused. “I should like to hear more about that, if you could tell me.”

#gav gab #gav answers #fic: my dead are mine (and yours as well as mine)#i love this game.......

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sukirichi · 3 years

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fall from grace

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?”

“Your name.”

REQUEST/WARNINGS. (royal au, mutual pining, praise kink ) fake dating au, mirror sex, slight manhandling, fingering, body marking, prejudice, mentions of abuse, injustice, and inequality + unedited (I’m so lazy to edit tbh, I’m so sorry, just bear with me if there are typos or grammatical errors)

NOTES. I LOVE AND HATE THIS STORY

WC. 7k+

SONG INSPO. Ashes (Celine Dion)

The prince himself lifted his chin up higher; long, slender fingers deftly grazing against the pad of your knuckles that were pressed on his chest.

The tips of your ears burned at the sight of people pausing from their conversations all to witness the scene – one that was so rare to have come from the infamous Crown Prince known to have bedded more women than he could count.

“Your Highness,” you pinched your brows together, leaning closer into him to bring you the least bit of comfort. The dress you had to wear today had nothing but itchy lace; albeit elegant, you preferred the loose materials of your dance clothes, painted red lips fighting back a grimace. “Must we really do this in public?”

The Crown Prince laughs, his white hair fluttering against the soft kisses of the wind. Beautiful, you think, beautiful, you are reminded, prompting you to dig your free hand deeper into the flesh of your thighs.

“What would be the point of our ruse if we are not a little flashy, My Lady?”

You frowned at his words, head ducked down as you avoided everyone’s prying eyes. You supposed you should be used to this – you are a performer, after all – but the attention was terribly unwelcomed yet expected from your previous agreements.

The said agreement, however, did not affect your standing as a person, something you had to remind the happy-go-lucky Prince. “I am not of that title.”

“People regard you of it,” he commented at an off-beat, his crystalline eyes sweeping over the crowd with a chilling command, a slight bite of a challenge that asked his people to dare him. When they shifted away, scurrying behind fluffed up skirts and pressed down suits, the Crown Prince snickered, smiling down at you with a flash of his pearly whites. “You are, after all, hanging prettily off my arm.”

“Because you asked me to, Your Highness.”

“Ah, are you forgetting already?” he paused, his long and elegant stature towering over yours. “I’m doing this for the both of us. The agreement was clear – you steered me away from my arranged marriage, redeem my nettling reputation, and in turn, I shall pick you up from where you’ve fallen,” your lips parted in protest, finger raised to correct that no, you had not fallen, that was not the situation at all, but he silenced you when he leaned down close enough that his eyes twinkled before you, lips turned at the side arrogantly. “In fact, I am more than capable of providing you more than that.”

“I am well aware of that, Your Highness. I truly am indebted to you.”

Should you be humiliated? Forming an agreement with the Crown Prince would be the last thing that would ever arrive even in your craziest dreams, yet there you were, in the middle of the town square, leisurely strolling with the Kingdom’s heir as if it was but a daily occurrence.

Thoughts running back to your latest predicament – which he just had to bear witness to – you winced, swallowing the resigned sigh that threatened to spill.

You did not have enough shame in you to be humiliated, not when he was right. It was a mutually beneficial agreement.

“You do not have to be,” Prince Satoru blinked at you, gray lashes fluttered against the pads of his cheeks. “I take extreme pleasure in saving a damsel in distress,” Your lips puckered out, tireless with the need to tell him it wasn’t like that, and the Prince easily read through you, tugging you back into his arm as he laughed. “Even when I know you are not. Still, it does feel nice to take a walk in this fine day, don’t you think?”

You snorted at the heavy sarcasm under his sweet tone, “It feels a little embarrassing.”

“You feel embarrassed that you’re with me?”

“Yes,” you gritted at your teeth, the lace of your gloves digging into your flesh. You wanted nothing more than to rip it off, the material a silent reminder of the requirement that must be met to fool the crowd. “You’re a prince and I am—”

“I thought we already established titles mean nothing when we both mutually benefit from one another,” he cut you off, hands coming up to caress at your cheeks. You immediately froze at his touch, the iciness behind those eyes doing nothing to soothe you until he spoke, the Prince’s words oddly gentle and warm like the sun that shone down on you that fine day. “Worry not about that. I do not care what people think of you. All I care is that you do well and I shall do my part gracefully in return,” he declared for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

Back then, you never believed that people had power just because they were born with it. Power had to be manifested, trained, earned – yet Prince Satoru wielded it with his lips so effortlessly that in that moment, you believed magic really wasn’t a myth.

“Kiss me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Everyone is looking,” his eyes darted over the on looking crowd, his bare hand still caressing your warm cheeks, hot enough that it put the sun to shame. “Lest you want this plan to fail, I suggest you kiss me, darling. Passionately.”

The Crown Prince was right. Everyone was looking.

Your body’s response was instantaneous. A hiss of a breath, muscles tensed and fingers curled into a fist at your side; you could feel bile rising from your throat out of panic.

Then Prince Satoru leaned forwards, eyes snapped shut and his lips colliding with yours. The single touch had all the tension flooding away as you kissed the Prince, his lips tasting of cinnamon and sugar, vanilla and spice wafting off of him delicately that you had to fist at the collar of his shirt to prevent yourself from gobbling him up whole.

He would find that rather displeasing, claiming that you had little to no table manners, so you forced yourself to relax as he breathed air into your mouth, large hands cradled around your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he mumbled between kisses, the mere scent of royalty and forbidden elegance dripping off of him making you fearful to open your eyes. It felt illegal to touch the most wanted bachelor in your Kingdom this way, felt wrong to have his hands roaming down the slopes of your body while everyone looked at your shameless public display of faux romance. But if it was wrong, then why did he hold you so tenderly, not moving to push you away even as you nipped at his lips once more?

“You’re alright – I’ve got you.”

It was not easy being a no-name ballerina. You’ve crafted your skill for what seemed like your whole life, yet getting even a step closer to your dreams proved to be a daunting task. Even as your toes bruised and your muscles ached, pants heaved from your chest while you bended your body at will, you couldn’t stop thinking about how no one told you it was never easy to reach your dreams.

The fairytales had lied to you. They made it seem to easy to grab a star, never really explaining on how to be a star.

It felt so far away – the galaxy and universe you’d longer your entire life to be a part of – yet the Crown Prince stood at the corner of your studio, eyes dark as he watched you sway to the music.

A few weeks prior to your spontaneous arrangement, you were foolish enough to believe you could become that star easily. You were the lowest of ranks when it came to other girls; orphaned, no-named, broke, and loveless.

Unlike your peers that were bred of the finest titles and fed with silver spoons, nannies and courts running after them in their growing years, you had to survive on scraps, taking three jobs at the young age of thirteen just to get into dance school and afford the fees.

You believed title or ranking shouldn’t have had to do anything with talent and worth, but then again, you were foolish beyond your years.

The moment you heard you were chosen to be the Black Swan of this season, allowing you to debut, you squealed behind your skirt, training day and night to the point you’ve skipped your meals just to perfect your routine.

That was until your classmates’ parents had come inside the school, twirling their moustaches behind soft fingers that had never known a day’s worth of work, belly round with cupcakes and all the delicacies only they were privileged enough to eat, the nervous laughter of your ballet master enough to let you know what it all meant.

Your classmate – the prettiest and the richest one – came rushing past you as she giggled over the announcement that she would be the Black Swan.

She was far many years younger than you, spoiled and with an attitude that tasted as bad as your leftovers, and definitely not skilled enough to debut – but of course, nothing was ever impossible enough with money, right? Before you could even defend yourself, your ballet master had cleaned out your quarters, your skirts and shoes thrown onto the muddy dirt while you cried under the rain, begging for another chance.

Second chances? You wanted to laugh.

Only people who did wrong should ask for it, and yet you sat there on your knees, hands clasped in a prayer that should only be reserved for wish bearers, desperate pleads of please don’t do this to me echoing into the empty night.

Was it fate then that the Crown Prince was half drunk inside his vehicle, shades slipping off his nose as he turned your way, your cries rudely interrupting the music blaring inside his car?

Perhaps it was – a cruel or a wonderful fate; no one could tell – the only thing that mattered now was that the Crown Prince had yet again found interest in a woman.

Only this time he didn’t lust after their body, wished nothing to do with their hands on his, completely sober around your presence as he watched you train endlessly in your studio, your sweat making your clothes stick like a second skin.

Prince Satoru leaned back against the walls then.

He should’ve brought a drink with him. Had he known that watching you dance sensually with such a blissed out expression he was mostly familiar with when he had his legs wrapped around another warm body would set his body alight, sober, then he would’ve left long ago.

Still, the Prince is rendered frozen at the edge, eyes trailing over your graceful form as you bended, legs flying out into the air while you arms dipped and curved into the most graceful of arcs and bows that put his combat figures into shame.

You weren’t even trying to seduce him and yet he was wholly captivated.

He wants to say that the woman he saw that rainy night and the woman stood before him now, figure bathed in the small slivers of sunlight that peeked through the blinds and stockings hugging each and every curve and dip of your body were entirely two different people, but the longer he looked, there was no mistaking it was still the same person. The passion burned through your eyes, the soft melodious tunes of the music guiding you – or rather you guiding the beat before you fluttered to another.

Prince Satoru smiled.

It first came off as a joke that he wanted to know more about you – his pretend lover – because everyone knew the Crown Prince was too frivolous to ever settle down and find interest in a woman beyond her looks. The confused pout you gave him as he followed you inside your studio burned at the back of his brain, a silent warning that you were different; that you were not someone he could touch lest he wished to burn and break you, though that would be a lie, it seemed.

For every strong ripple of your muscles and flowy movement of your body as you completely delved into the space of your own home and comfort, the Prince knew – you were not someone he could crush into the palm of his hands.

He came here out of boredom.

He left the studio with a confused heart, cheeks resting on his palm as he asked his chauffer, when is the next show?

The birds chirped above you, your fingers stretched out as you peeked from under it, lips pressed into a flat line. You were in the royal garden after persistent invitation from the Crown Prince himself. Speaking of, said Crown Prince had his limbs sprawled out beneath you, the edges of his hands slightly playing with the frills of your dress as he took his afternoon nap, a youthful smile on his face.

“Your Highness,” you huffed out, “What are we doing here? No one is looking. There is no need for us to continue our act.”

“I know,” he cheered a little too brightly for someone that looked to be deep in dreamland, “I just wanted to hang out with you without worrying about others. Not that I ever did, but it’s nice to be alone with you every once in a while. The prying eyes can get a bit too much.”

You hummed at the thought; he did have a point. This arrangement turned out to be a lot smoother than expected. The Crown Prince wasn’t lying about his intentions and not once had he laid a hand on you – without your permission, anyway – and he turned out to be…a lot more docile and easy going than what you originally thought of him. Not that you had much thoughts to begin with anyway, the Prince was a celebrity and therefore not someone that concerned you.

In your mind, he was merely your leader, more often than a not a name spoken between hushed whispers and dreamy moans.

This side of him was different, and all the time you’d spent him with was filled with nothing but ridiculed stares and taunts. The Crown Prince was a hilarious man who never feared trying out new things, always happy and eager to try exotic foods with you in the night markets or joining you in your spontaneous dancing during midnight ‘dates.’

He was the closest you could consider as a friend, and you relaxed against him, laying down on the flowery fields right next to him as you sighed in content. “I will miss this, Your Highness.”

“Miss what?”

“You and I – hanging out,” you mumbled a little dreamily, “I have a strong feeling things will finally get better for me. When I get scouted by a better company, I won’t be able to hang out with you anymore,” Silence befell the both upon you, the rustling of the wind against the flowers sounding like a far off memory. Soon, it would be. “I will miss this.”

“You could always call me. Or who knows, maybe I’d even drop by to watch your performances sometime.”

You snapped your eyes open, chuckling when the Prince had now sat up halfway, his regal face cradled in his hands while his elbow laid flat under him. He blinked innocently at you, and that’s when you realized – he was serious. That had you bursting into laughter, hands clutched at your stomach. “Please, you? You do not even enjoy ballerina!”

“I enjoy watching you,” he confessed in a heartbeat, his gaze falling from your crinkled eyes and all the way down to the silhouette of your body. “There’s something about the way you move that’s just so graceful and...phenomenal.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his heated gaze, the mere trails of his sight enough to warm your entire skin despite the cool wind. This was the Prince concerned though, and you had to guard your heart, eyes narrowed playfully at him while you desperately ignored the need to rub your thighs together.

“Are you flirting with me, Your Highness?”

The Prince snorted, “Flirt with you? My pretend girlfriend?” he clutched a hand at his chest as if the assumption offended him, “What makes you come to that conclusion?”

You chucked your handkerchief at him, still a little in disbelief that you were greeted by his laughter when it hit him right in the face.

You would miss this indeed.

Your gaze softened as you sat up, thighs pressed to your chest as you directed your gaze up in the sky. Prince Satoru may not always be around when the time came, but at least you still had the sky to remind you of this brazen and unexpected friendship that helped you grow.

“Thank you, though,” you squished your cheeks onto your knees, a lilted smile plastered on your face. “Dancing has always been a passion of mine. I can’t ever imagine a time of my life where I wasn’t moving with music. It almost feels as if I was destined with it; it speaks to me and deeper than the recesses of my bones, guides me until I’m one and entangled with it,” you ended with a dreamy sigh, turning your head to the side to look His Highness in the eye, stilling for a moment when you’re met with his solemn gaze.

Your throat parched dry. “Have you ever fallen in love with something like that before?”

“I don’t think so,” one of his shoulders lifted up in a lame shrug, voice turning deep and husky as he asked, “How do you know when you lack something or not?”

“If it comes to love...” you tapped your chin with a finger, “I think a life lived without one would feel quite empty. Hollow, I would say, and the skies would just be a plain blue instead of a calming yet mesmerizing one,” the courage that soared within you was an unexpected one, but it was enough to let you look him in the eye, form vulnerable and words slipping past your lips before you could control them. “If I were incapable of love, I’d say your eyes are nothing but gleams of sapphire.”

“And if you were capable of it? What would my eyes be?”

“Like cerulean galaxies crashing against one another,” you whispered, “Stardust sprinkled and heavens birthed out of passion and the desire to be something more. You’d be azure and brazen instead of crestfallen; the magnificence of the universe’s creation attesting to itself that it is wholly capable of designing divine beings.”

“Hmm,” he tipped his head to the side as he mulled over your words. His jacket was discarded somewhere along the grass, top three buttons of his shirt left opened and hair rustling with the wind. Beautiful, the image etched into your skin. “Are you sure you are a dancer and not a poet?”

“People say all sorts of beautiful things when they’re in love.”

The Prince straightened up, lips pursed. For a moment, you grew fearful, your heart frantically thumping in your chest as you thought, this is it – this is when he pushes you away. He does nothing of this as he scoots closer to you, using his rough thumb to tilt your chin until you were looking up at him, wide eyes sparkling – the sight of you vulnerable like this making the Crown Prince lick his lips.

“If you were in love,” he began, voice barely above a whisper, “What would be the most beautiful thing those lips of yours would utter?” You shivered as his thumb moved up to graze at your bottom lip, almost prompting it to jut out, to which you happily complied with a shaky breath. “What would you say then?”

“Your name.”

The Prince smiled to himself at your hearty answer. To hide both of your nervous chuckles, the Prince took it upon himself to ease both your worries as he kissed you, nothing but the warmth and fluttering of butterflies rampaging in your stomach mixing at his sweet taste.

Beautiful, you hummed into his mouth. You could fall for as long as you wanted, but would the Prince ever fall from grace as he moaned into your mouth, tugging you until you were situated in his lap, arms wrapped tight enough around you in refusal to let you go? Maybe, your mind sighed, hands tugging at his hair when the Prince kissed you fervently, murmuring one word that made you melt right then and there.

Beautiful, he finds you.

Both your loud laughter echoed in his training grounds, the horses’ hooves padding against the firm earth. “Not fast enough, my Lady,” he taunts, his smile bright and wide as he sat perched atop his white stallion. “How would you catch my heart if you cannot ride faster?”

“I will catch up to you, just wait and see! Not everyone grew up riding horses, you know?”

“I bet a fine coin you do ride well, though, my Lady,” he remarked with a wink, his statement enough to tap the sides of your feet harder against your horse to catch after him.

“Your Highness!”

As you two chased around each other the wide field, carefree laughter and clothes swaying against the wind, skin warm from the flush of the sun, the Crown Prince’s servants stood at the side.

A particular woman – the servant that had been loyal long before the Prince was born – remained under a parasol, her wrinkled face tight with a frown.

“How nauseating,” she scrunched her nose, arms crossed on her chest. “To think I dedicated my life into raising the little prince to be a fine king someday, and his future would be tainted by a lowly performer who cannot even make a name for herself,” turning to one of the young boy servants, she narrowed her eyes at you. “Where does she work again? Is she of name?”

“She is an orphan, Madam, taken in at a young age in a dance school before she had to pay the fees herself, if the rumors are correct. I heard that she and His Highness met when she was kicked out by her own ballet master due to her stealing the original Black Swan spot for this season’s show.”

His old nanny’s face grew more gruesome. “Wasn’t the Black Swan supposed to be one of the Earl’s daughters?”

“Yes. Rumours had it that His Highness’ new plaything seized the spot to prove herself. Look at how that plan backfired.”

“How repulsive,” she spat out, venom laced in her tongue.

The roles had reversed, the Crown Prince insistent in catching you this time around, and you rode after him with panicked laughter, hands clutched tight on the reins. Although you’d only swished past the small group of servants that always seemed to be around, you’d heard enough.

“We must protect His Highness at all costs before this wretched woman rips his future away from him. The fate of the kingdom lies on his shoulders; we cannot afford him making mistakes.”

“Indeed, Madam.”

You stopped in your tracks until the horse slowed down with confused huffs, your Prince following behind you not long afterwards. Looking back at him again, you were no longer able to smile at him genuinely, not when discomfort, and most of all shame, had to be forced down deep into your system. Beautiful, you resigned, he was too beautiful.

His servants were right. Maybe you really were ruining everything for him. His reputation was frowned upon to begin with for his less than infamous sexual endeavors, that he was more often sighted in casinos and bars instead of his study room.

The barrack guards had grown tired and weary of trying to stop the Crown Prince from leaving the royal grounds. No matter what they did, he always found a way to escape.

The only difference this time around was that their Prince no longer frequented such sinful places and met with women of all titles and backgrounds. No, this time, the Prince leapt from the tall walls that had never been much of a challenge considering his tall frame, not bothering to get a car or even a horse as he dashed straight to your studio.

Sweat dripped down from your face as you slammed a fist on the floor, tears about to erupt. You couldn’t complete this routine that you were so close into perfecting.

Your mind was simply just in a mess.

There was a conflicting war inside you – one with your heart that yearned to stay longer in His Highness’ presence out of mere selfishness, and one with your mind that told you it was dishnoroubale to taint his name like this. The last thing you wanted was to destroy and push both of you even further into falling from grace; both reputations and name already tarnished.

You’d truly be heartless if you kept going on.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were feeling comfortable with him, having found home in the Crown Prince’s warm arms and spontaneous kisses of all places.

Was it absurd? Undoubtedly so.

Could it be helped? You certainly could try.

And you’d been doing a great job so far; quite a daunting task you patted yourself in the back for. Avoiding the Prince when he’d made it clear he also enjoyed your company proved a lot harder than reaching your dreams, but you pushed through, locking yourself in the unused studio and training day and night.

It wasn’t working well – not on your part, anyway. You’d been here for hours, your clothes uncomfortably sticking to your skin and your water bottles were all emptied.

You’d never felt this tired.

You fell on your knees, palms flat on the floor and sweat salty as it trailed down to your lips. With a groan, you untied your shoes off and stared at the bruised and blued toes, a witness to the countless years of hard work. Your lip quivered as you massaged the sore muscles, tears about to spill as you remembered the Prince.

Beautiful, he was, flawless and porcelain in each movement and breath.

But you? You were battered, scarred, broken and bruised – why would he want you of all people? It was clear he’s had multiple lovers before you. No, scratch that, you were never a lover to begin with. It was all a sham, an agreement formed out of lame survival. There was no beauty in a lie.

The music playing from your stereo kept repeating on loop, this time the tune no longer unrecognizable as your soft cries echoed around the studio. You weren’t beautiful – not enough for him, at least – everyone made that very clear to you.

Just as you wiped your tears away at the back of your hand, standing up to continue another set as you refused to come back home without completing one perfect routine, the doors slammed open. Heavy breathing entered afterwards and you scowled – you worked tooth and bone to claim this place as yours, who dared enter? “This studio is private—” your words fell dry on your skin when a tuft of white hair trudged over to you, his usual placid face replaced with a firm sneer. “Y-Your Highness?”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

His voice was nothing but demanding, the authority behind them only natural and befitting for someone like him. Each step he took forwards equated to a step backward until your back hit the mirrors, eyes wide as you gazed up at him.

Your voice came out weak. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” he pointed a finger at you, then scoffed, hands running through the soft locks of his air while he shook his head. You stood there grasping at your tights; having never seen the Prince lose his composure before. “I know you’ve been avoiding me. Every time I try to contact you, you never respond. When I ask your friends where you’ve been, they all tell me you’re busy practicing.”

Somehow, you managed to find your voice again, tone heavy and biting. “I am busy practicing, do you not see that?”

“It’s not the only thing you’re occupied with. Clearly, you are quite determined to stay away from me too,” he bellowed, his loud voice bouncing back from the emptiness of the room. The booming sound must’ve snapped him back to consciousness because Prince Satoru sighed, stepping closer until his warm hand cupped your cheek, starry blue eyes filled with worry and anguish. Had you caused this?

Beautiful, you frowned, that even in his demise he managed to look like fine art. “Why are you avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?” he softened, breath warm on your lips. “If yes, then tell me and I’ll do everything it takes to make up for it.”

You fisted his shirt; cheek faced his way because you couldn’t look him in the eye right now. There was no way you’d let him see you cry.

“I don’t understand you, Your Highness,” you murmured, “You’re about to be King – why do you bother yourself with someone like me? I’m nothing compared to you, and I detest being compared to you for I am more than worthy despite not being born of a high ranking like yours.”

Prince Satoru froze. “Is this what this is about? My title bothers you?”

“We should stop whatever we’re doing,” was all you said, pushing him away as gently as you could, ignoring the gnawing pain that grew inside of you when your palms landed on his chest. “It is lowly of me to take advantage of the Crown Prince’s kindness anyway. My success should be paved out of my own hard work and not because of my lame connections to the Crown Prince.”

“Lame connections? Is that all I am to you?”

“You are my Crown Prince, Your Highness,” you reminded him of the stark difference firmly, “You mean a lot to your people, but I do not mean anything to you. I am just another nameless performer lost in the crowd of a thousand other girls who wish to reach their dreams, even if such a star is far beyond our reach,” Tears had now fallen until they formed into crystals on your cheeks, and he blinked back, unsure of what to do. “Could you ever understand what that feels like? To yearn for something you know you could never have but hope for anyway?”

“It would be a lie if I said I did,” he admitted quietly, “But I think I’m beginning to understand. It would make sense to me now – if you keep pushing me away, that is.”

You shook your head begrudgingly. “Your Highness...we shouldn’t.”

“And why not? Who said we couldn’t?”

You don’t stop him this time when he stepped closer once more, trapping you between his arms until you clutched desperately at his shirt, his erratic heartbeat pulsing under your touch. “It’s just you and I – neither a prince nor a performer – simply man and woman who crave each other’s touch. What could be so wrong into giving into one’s desires?” you gasped when his lips fell at the juncture of your neck, your head immediately tilting to the side as you allowed him to ravage you. “You still haven’t given me the chance to let you know what I feel,” he cradled your jaw, caressing your skin as he breathed you’re your ear, voice low and sultry, begging even, “Would you really deny me the pleasure of showing you how beautiful you are to me right now?”

“Satoru,” you keened at his teeth tugging at your skin, fists clenched on shirt. “Touch me.”

“That’s all I ever wanted to do, darling.”

Satoru swept down to capture your lips in his, his grip firm on the swell of your ass he kept you close to him, pressed hip to hip and his hardened front grazing your core through the tights. He pulled a moan from you as he flipped your body over, lips finding home in your neck while his large hand cupped your breast, the other trailing down to finger at your clothed, damp pussy.

In this angle, you could see the despondent way you easily spread your legs for him, your pants like music to ears.

“Do you still not believe me when I say you are worth more than a pound of gold? Look at you – your dripping cunt shines harder than the diamonds I keep in my room,” the both of you groaned when he pushed a finger through your hole, your tights stretching and sucked in by your walls enough to outline the arousal that seeped through. “Maybe I should keep you instead, hmm, don’t you think? You’d be a far grander treasure than all those riches.”

“I am a woman,” you tugged at his hair, panting heavily as he kept fingering into you, his thumb grazing at the sensitive bundle of nerves that swelled under your tight clothes. “I am not to be reduced to a possession you acquire.”

“No, of course not. Nothing could ever replace you in this world,” he growled, harsh in his movements as he tore your clothes with minimal effort.

You yelped when your precious tights had been ripped to the sides, a hole revealing your core and your breasts barely covered with the flimsy fabric. Satoru shuffled his pants down before placing you right on his cock, swallowing your moans with each inch of his length that slid inside you.

Hands dug painfully into his hair, Satoru hissed at the pain, grinning to himself at how wet you were through just light touches and a sloppy kiss. You’ve been good for him, though, you were always good for him that he had to reward you, show you how beautiful you were, and he spread his legs apart, relishing in the sight of you being fucked onto his cock.

“Nothing feels better than your tight pussy, huh? Take a good look at yourself, you’re so fucking precious, taking me so well,” you could only moan in response, unable to take your eyes off the way his length disappeared inside you, a shiver chilling your spine when he grasped at your breasts, nipples tweaked between his fingers. “Nothing, nothing, nothing could compare to this. You feel like heaven, taste like bliss and forgiveness,” he licked at the salty sweat that drowned your body, one of his hands now rolling your clit between his fingers. You screamed, bouncing yourself harder on him with your nails dug deep into his thighs. “You will be the redemption of my darkened soul, are you not?”

“Maybe I will be,” you cried out, head lolled onto his shoulder.

Satoru hummed, his eyes dark and coated with lust when your breasts bounced in front of the mirror. Thanks to years of dancing, you barely felt a stretch when Satoru suddenly lifted your legs up until your thighs were embarrassingly squished against your chest. You knew why he did this; it wasn’t that hard to understand why when he narrowed his focus on the way your juices slipped down his cock, the sounds of your pussy squelching drowning out the operatic music.

Satoru kissed your cheeks to wipe your previous tears away, his hands nothing but grabby and possessive as he gripped the flesh of your thigh. “You already are, sweet thing.”

Pleasure had completely taken over you at this point, that familiar heat building up in your stomach until it snapped into two. Pupils blown wide open, you gasped as you came all over him, your cum creaming down onto his cock until it lined with a thick ring of cum.

It was filthy to say the least, and your body burned at the thought that you were disrespecting him, defiling him with the mess you’ve made. But the Prince only fucked into you harder, his teeth grazing at your already abused skin with relentless and merciless thrusts. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d show you how beautiful he found you, going hell and beyond because you felt nothing but worshipped when he kissed you feverishly, his moans romantic as he came. “S-Satoru!”

“That’s right,” he slipped a finger, the stretch adding a slight tinge of pain that had your hips rutting out in sensitivity, your hole clenching around his everything. “Cum for me. Come on, I know you can do it for me. You’re so good, sweetheart, come for me.”

You were mindlessly babbling his name as both of you came down from your highs. Satoru doesn’t stop once from running hands everywhere, gripping your hips, flicking your nipples, rubbing your clit, and running a finger down your slit to wipe your juices everywhere. It had become too much that you had to push his hand away, legs locking around his arms that refused to stop cupping your pussy.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” he cooed, shameless and teasing when he brought his hands up to your face, fingers stretched to show the webbing of your arousal between them. “We made such a mess,” he chuckled, his kisses a lot softer now on your neck.

Beautiful, you whimpered internally as you fluttered around nothing.

Satoru must’ve grown an addiction to kissing your lips for he dived in one last time, murmuring the word you always tied him with until they felt printed, tattooed, on your skin. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in this, your kisses slow and sensual as you both enjoyed this serene moment.

He came to this studio to prove you something.

He left the studio with a swelling heart, cheeks resting on your breast as he wrapped his arms around you in the comfort of your worn-out mattress as he asked, can I stay here longer with you?

The cheers and applause directed your way were deafening, the spotlight blinding as you bowed. You gasped for air, every muscle in your body screaming both with delight and exhaustion.

You could barely fathom the crowd hidden in darkness before you, the sight like a black sea, but instead of feeling like you were drowning, you don’t think you’d ever been able to breathe this well before. The smile on your face was bright – brighter than the star you’ve become and bigger than the galaxy and universe you’ve made for yourself – and you waved your arm gracefully, toes pointed outwards while the roses and flowers thrown your way came flooding like a waterfall.

You’d made it.

And through the crowd, at the back where someone the likes of him wasn’t supposed to be, His Majesty’s white hair stuck out like a sore thumb. His draperies were replaced with finer ornaments of gold embroidery, those large hands that had grown accustomed to holding yours and marking handprints on your delicate skin covered with gloves as he applauded, following the crowd from where they all stood.

Your smile directed him was nothing less of a beam, the stars he’d hung for you reflecting back in your eyes. Tears blurred the vision of him for a moment until you saw him again – crystal clear – his expression both proud and longing.

The memory of you and him had been a beautiful one, but it was distant and with each passing day, it blurred until it became nothing like swirls of I love you’s and good luck’s whispered onto one another’s skin. Your heart still soared and broke each time at the sight of him, the majestic Queen hanging off the arm that was locked with yours just years ago a painful reminder that there would always be an invisible divide between you and the Prince you’d fallen in love with.

There was no regret, however, in where things had led. You knew he loved his kind wife as much as he loved you, and he knew you loved him as much as you loved your career, and things were simply just…meant to be this way, you concluded.

It was never supposed to be a great love story that told of breaking traditions. Not all stories were meant to go against the odds; some were told to show that people could be capable of change without having to change anything. You were thankful, still so extremely grateful you met your beloved Prince even as he left the theatre before people crowded around him, leaving you to your devices until you retired back into the changing room, a set of rare flowers only a certain person could afford.

Beautiful, you cried as you picked up the card, his once messy scrawls improved into a neater cursive befitting for the new King.

And so it was that you parted ways, with him leading his country into further prosperity while you moved away and stole people’s hearts with each phenomenal show, one after the other.

Your summer rendezvous with the Prince was not meant to be a love story that went against all odds; you were there to save each other from reaching damnation, loving one another as passionately as your souls were able to until you picked each other back up.

Once the other stood firm, tall, and ready to take on the world with their bare hands, you pushed one another in your respective directions.

Beautiful, you smiled as you clutched at his present close to your heart where he’d built a garden out of itself, that we’d saved each other from falling from grace.

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getouswh0re · 3 years

Text

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: yandere, unhealthy relationships, mentions of violence, blood & gore, mass murdering, obsession, slight manga spoilers

synopsis: he would tear the entire world apart with his own hands, just to keep you by his side evermore.

****************************************************

Love is a lethal bliss.

Bearing semblance to momentary sweetness, it warms the cockles of your heart; yet before one could even savour it for long, in its honey-like aftertaste is a deadly poison — seeping through the branching veins and killing every cell of the living host within its reach. Soundlessly, life is sucked out as one discovers themselves teetering on a tightrope of death.

i) The ambience of the atmosphere between you and Gojo is silent, deadly — akin to the calming weather before a raging storm. As the two of you stand at opposite ends of the living room, eyes refusing to meet with the sorcerer’s as an expanse of sky blue smoulders holes into your soul. Feeling your limbs trembling from the intensity of his stare, cat got your tongue. The words you’ve meant to say are stuck at the back of your throat as the taller male shifts a step forward, and you unconsciously leaning back against the wall.

“Do we have to do this love?” You cringe at the feigned pain interlaced in your ex’s tone. “You know you don’t have to do this. This is painful for both you and I, and knowing how much you love me, you certainly don’t want to put both of us through all of this. Don’t you?”

You bite your lip, eyes downcast.

You wish all of this isn’t necessary, that everything that has happened is nothing more than your imagination regarding the red flags displayed before your periphery. Still, you have to do it having mulled over it for a while. It is about time that all of this come to an end.

Ever since a certain man called Gojo Satoru meandered into your life, everything changed as your feelings for the male blossomed, like fresh buds on the bare branches with remnants of snow thawing into tinges of spring. It didn’t take long for the two of you to reciprocate one another’s feelings, yet cracks gradually surface on what seemed like an all-too-perfect fairy tale, breaking the crystal ball of illusion that you had been trapped in throughout all these months.

For as long as you could remember, Gojo has been acting out of character; sure enough he retains his childish personality and insufferable god complex, yet there are times when you could barely recognise him. On occasions he would whine for hours, desperate to gain your attention, and there were moments when he’d follow wherever you went. Initially dismissing his clinginess as his way of displaying affection, you didn’t think much about it. That was until his demeanour underwent a 180 degree shift; being overbearing was one thing, yet the sorcerer had the audacity to dictate your life and your social circle, stepping his foot way past the boundaries that even you thought was too much.

It wasn’t like you didn’t give Gojo an opportunity to change for the better. You did; it was him who failed to reflect on his own mistakes, to take things for granted without realising he had been in the wrong all along. With those alarming signs of the relationship spiralling into a toxic one, it occurred to you that you should end things fast before circumstances aggravated.

Love is a beautiful pain.

To relish its fleeting vestiges between their fingertips, one must endure the torment of its thorns. Not everyone has the courage to sacrifice their sanity for something so transient, but one — or maybe few, who are more than willing to pay for their price, would do anything to hold onto such evanescent reminisces close to their heart.

ii) “Come on y/n. You know you don’t want to break up with me, stop lying to your heart.”

As if his saccharine smile isn’t enough to make bile surge up your throat, the lovelorn white-haired man stares at you with such adoration, making you revolted than ever; before you could even blink, he is already inches away, bringing up his slender fingers and caressing your cheeks with utter delicacy.

“From the moment we met, it’s like the red strings of fate intertwining, akin to two worlds colliding.”

Feeling his breath tickling your frigid neck, goosebumps laminate your skin as you shudder underneath his lasting touches.

“Your heart belongs to me, and mine yours. It’s like the universe wants the two of us to be together — forever. Just stop denying your feelings, okay? I can hear your heartbeat ... it’s beating crazy, just for me.”

“Gojo, you need to stop all of this —“

“Oh honey, don’t say that ... I know the look in those eyes.” He presses on, his insufferable ego refusing to give in. “You might be pushing me away, but your body does the exact opposite. You’re still in love with me. You care for me, I know you do.”

Perhaps that is what makes terrifying about the sorcerer. Wearing his usual smile on a deceptively charming face, his true thoughts are inscrutable beneath the unfazed facade; worst of all, you never know what would drive him off the edge, not until you experience triggering a ticking time bomb by accident.

“Gojo, hear me out.” You push the towering male away, determined than ever to cut ties with him for the sake of your own safety. “What you do is not love anymore. It’s ... obsession! And it’s suffocating me! If you truly cared about me you would’ve respected my wishes and opinions — but you didn’t. No matter how much you love someone, this is far beyond acceptable. I ... we need to break up, for the sake of both of us.”

Stunned, the remnants of hope flicker in the sorcerer’s azure eyes before dissipating into darkness, along with his despondent heart that has plummeted into abysmal depths of a bottomless void. Hands retracting from your skin, you heave out a sigh of relief when spine-chilling chortles echo from Gojo’s throat.

“You think that’s it? That I’ll let you go?” The crazed glint in his burning stare convinces you even more that breaking up with this delusional man is the only option to save yourself. Slowly backing towards the door, you have prepared yourself for the worst, making a potential run with a bag filled with your valuables.

“You cannot run away from me y/n! You know you can never escape from me. I will flip the world upside down to find you — and hunt you down! Want me to prove that? I will tear the entire world apart by my hands, just so that you won’t run away from me anymore!”

You finally make your run, sprinting out of your shared apartment as fast as you could whilst ignoring his shrilling screams, deciding to leave everything behind for good.

Love is an unprecedented enigma.

Like a never-ending Möbius strip, the red strings of fate intertwines people's fates — yet at the same time, it looms over everyone's lives like a doom of death, mercilessly tearing loved ones or those held dear to their hearts apart within the blink of an eye. Callous as it seems, it reminds people how minuscule acts of gratitude allow them to appreciate the present before they lament or carry their regrets later on in life. Unfortunately, with the complexity of destiny, nobody could ever foresee when karma would dawn upon their heads. Not even you.

Little would you know that doomsday would be awaiting you so soon.

iii) For what feels like going through hell and back, you finally manage to rid yourself out of the psychotic sorcerer's hands and his devious manipulation. For what it’s worth, there is no guarantee about your life returning to normal. Knowing that it is nearly impossible to escape from Gojo (knowing that his sixth eyes can instantly locate where you are), you eventually make the decision of moving away with a heavy heart, considering that it would be what it’s best to solve your issues with your controlling ex.

Having settled the documents and errands, all that’s left is for you to leave the place filled with nothing other than sad memories. As if it seems like a fresh start is extending its outstretched hands towards you, freedom is just within hand’s reach.

Not until all hell breaks loose on October 31st — the day of your departure.

Copper tinges beckon indigo skies at twilight, remnants of the setting sun shining through the windows as you take a last, rueful look at the apartment you’ve resided most of your life before grabbing your belongings and heading towards the train station. With the day being Halloween, it isn’t surprising at all that the streets would be crowded, flooded with jovial citizens who want to enjoy themselves during the spooky season. All you have to do is make your way onto the designated train.

Yet that never happened, because havoc descends among the living like a catastrophic plague.

Just as you writhe your way through the streets and making your way towards the train station, screams erupt when a massive quake demolish the surrounding buildings into shambles, tearing the festive merriment in the atmosphere apart as people turn and run in all directions without warning — leaving you extremely perplexed about the current state of Shibuya. Horror is evident in every onlooker’s eyes whilst they dash for shelter; the city is in absolute chaos — danger looming, asphalt pavements ensanguined with blood, distressed cries resonating into the night.

“Hey!” You call out, grabbing onto a random passerby. “What the hell happened?”

“Danger ... curses ... sorcerer —“

Your blood run cold upon the mentioning, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out the entire situation and who has been responsible. In hindsight, you should’ve had followed the rest and ran away from the scene immediately, but you don’t — standing there amongst the quiet streets in utter terror. And before you could even lift your legs and sprint for your life, there he is, stained from head to toe in blood — an inebriated stare full of nothing but infatuation for you.

“Honey! There you are ...” Skipping over mountains of corpses humming a joyful tune, Gojo happily pulls you into his chest, nestling his face against your squirming shoulders, his grip a vice against your futile efforts of struggling to break free. “I was so worried about you ever since you left! I ... I feel like my world is falling apart, and I just cannot live without you you know!”

“Get. The. Hell. Off. Me!”

The sorcerer chortles at your demand, ignoring your protests as he hugs you closer to his throbbing heart.

“Darling ... we could’ve been so happy together. Yet you have to do all of this. For what? If you had given me your heart and soul, none of this would’ve happened —“

“Oh, so this is my fucking problem now?” You hiss, shoving the taller male off. “You really are crazy — Gojo Satoru. But I never regret the decision I’ve made, and I will do it again and again if I need to!”

That is when he activates his domain expansion.

All of your sudden, your mind is a blank — staring into the sorcerer’s cerulean eyes as it overwhelms you like a raging hurricane, sucking you deeper and deeper until your entirety sinks into his infinite void. For once you finally fear the strongest man on earth — of the dangers he possesses and what would’ve happened had he decided to break your mind the hard way.

“To be honest, I don’t care ~” Silent tears roll down your cheeks once you recognise the drop in the man’s usual carefree tone, feeling the remnants of sanity being ruthlessly stripped away from you as you fall limp in Gojo’s loving arms.

“The seas can rage, the heavens will rumble. But no matter what happens, I’m never going to let any of this take you away from me — for you and I are the honoured ones, destined to be together ...”

With his voice dwindling to a hushed whisper, the sorcerer slips a shimmering ring onto your finger, declaring in utmost adoration his vows of undying love.

“In time and evermore.”

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notsowrites · 3 years

Text

No Place Else I Could Be (But Here In Your Arms)

A 3x10 Malex Coda

I got an anon prompt asking if I could write the couch sex. This is not that... well, not exactly. There’s sex, just not that specific sex. So I wrote this, and then in typical fashion, worried about it until I remembered something someone told me once: "in the time you're spending worry about it, they've already taken their pants off.”

{AO3 Link)

So here ya go, enjoy! <3

--------

Michael wakes slowly, acutely aware of Alex sleeping next to him. Legs tangled, Alex has his face buried against Michael's shoulder, tiny exhales as he sleeps blowing cool air across Michael's skin. They'd somehow managed to fall asleep on the couch afterwards, the afghan pulled over their naked bodies.

He’s beautiful, he’s perfect, he’s home, Michael thinks as he watches Alex sleep.

Last night had been different from anything that had happened before between them. Michael had made the decision, especially after everything with Alex the last couple days, and particularly in regards to trying to learn how to let go of his anger with the past, to finally tell Alex this is what he'd been working towards, this had been the mission he'd referred to the night he'd kissed him at the Pony. To finally be able to answer the question Alex had posed in the song he'd sung a year ago, to finally be able to say he was home.

Max, Isobel… Dallas - they were family. He knew he'd only just met Dallas, but after their talk on the pier, he wanted to get to know him more. To explore that hope Theo had expressed that they would form their own triad.

It's all broken without three, Max had once slurred out in the midst of a bender on their 21st birthday. And maybe Michael hadn't realized it at the time just how true that statement actually was. Because he had a triad, he's had Max and Isobel since the moment they emerged from the pods. But he also had another triad in Isobel and Dallas, one that was brand new and he couldn't wait to explore more.

Alex had been right, he did need to start letting go of his anger about his childhood. But he's relied on it for so long, it's been a constant companion to him almost since the moment they came out of the pods. It's not going to be easy, but he had realized today he needed to start putting in the work. And in the bunker, Alex had listened as he'd broken apart, giving him the details he'd never shared before about that part of his life. As the tears had fallen down his cheeks, Alex had been there to wipe them away. To remind him that the past didn't define him. He'd rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing his arm and the faded scar of a long healed burn. Alex had reached out, fingertips tracing along the skin.

I'd thought it was just a junkyard accident. I never asked.

Michael also knows that before today, he never would have answered with the truth.

He'd seen his own pain reflected back in Alex's eyes, a kind of tether between them he still didn't fully understand. Because it wasn't the first time he thought it appeared as though Alex was able to feel the pain he was experiencing, though it's the first time he thinks to explore it and understand it. It was one of the reasons, on the list of many, that had kept him awake at night over the last decade, curious about their connection, about what it meant and how to exactly describe it.

Cosmic had fit the way no other word had. The vast reaches of the universe, the galaxy, the cosmos. There was too much of it, it was impossible to truly put into words, to quantify - and that's how his connection with Alex felt.

Indescribable and infinite.

Dallas had asked, afterwards. He's more than the guy who fixed our parents' machine, isn't he. Michael had, at first, been floored by the recognition. That Dallas had picked up on that already. But for the first time he's eager to answer in the affirmative, to be able to say that, yes Alex is more than that to him. It's the way you look at him.

He'd told Alex later as they'd sat here, how easy they were for everyone else to read. And he'd watched as Alex had smiled as he spoke, staring back at him with a bit of a knowing look. You should ask him about it, next time you talk. At first, he hadn't understood the meaning, why he needed to ask Dallas how he knew, why it mattered. But as the night progressed between them, it wasn't until they were skin to skin, coming down from their orgasms, that it hit Michael.

Dallas has his own Alex.

He hears the change in Alex's breathing a moment before Alex is pressing his nose to the skin of his chest, slowly waking up himself.

"I love the way you smell," Alex says, the words spoken against his lips. "Like after a rainstorm, but with a hint of motor oil and grease. The rain always makes me think of you."

"Every time it rains?" He knows Alex has mentioned the smell before, made a joke about it that day they'd been investigating at the Long Farm. But no one else has ever said anything, commented on the way he smells before - well, about the grease and motor oil they have, sometimes a comment about how he would smell better if he showered more. But Alex is the only one to mention a rainstorm.

Alex nods, propping himself up on Michael's chest so they can look at one another. Michael reaches up, pushing Alex's hair back off his face, watching as Alex leans into his palm.

"In a way, I was glad it doesn't rain very often in the Middle East. It meant something of you didn't follow me to distract me."

Michael smiles. "I'm a distraction?"

It's the way Alex smiles in return, it's the way he leans forward and pushes their mouths together, pulling Michael's lip between his own. It's the way Michael has his arm wrapped around Alex, his hand resting on his back, slowly moving up and down against his skin. It's the way Alex trails a hand down his chest, fingers dancing across his chest hair as Alex continues kissing him.

Alex wraps a hand around his dick, palm against the sensitive skin, their lips still moving together, and Michael can't stop the gasp that escapes at the sensation. He reaches up, his hand going to the back of Alex's neck, pulling him in and closer, closer, closer as Alex's hand moves. Their foreheads stay pressed together, they breathe the same air as Michael feels his dick harden under Alex's careful motions.

It disappears in the next moment though, Michael opening his eyes just as Alex is pushing up and off his chest. He's about to protest, about to ask what Alex is doing, when Alex straddles his hips.

"Alex," he whines, hands immediately moving to Alex's hips, fingers pressing into the skin and muscle. He watches helplessly as Alex reaches behind himself, a second later feeling Alex's hand on him again, his dick pressing against Alex's hole. He's about to protest, because he would enjoy nothing more this morning than being able to finger Alex open, to hear his particular moans and groans, when Alex pushes down, because Michael is unable to focus on anything except the feeling of tight muscle and heat, and Alex.

Closing his eyes, he gives himself over to the feelings, fingers tightening slightly on Alex's hips before he feels a set of hands on his face. He opens his eyes to see Alex in front of him a moment before their lips collide, their foreheads pushing together. He kisses back, pulling Alex's lip between his own, sucking on it, running his tongue along it. Slowly, Alex starts to move, small gyrations of his hips, and Michael slides his hands down to grab onto the flesh of his ass, urging him, encouraging him, to move faster.

But Alex keeps his dizzyingly slow pace, their lips pressed together, and Michael goes. He gives himself to the heat building low in his belly, the way he can feel his balls tightening. Focuses on Alex's lips against him, Alex's body against his, until he can't take it anymore.

He pushes up, guiding Alex with him, and gently flips their positions on the couch. He pulls Alex's legs up around him, and pushes back into him, sealing their lips back together as he thrusts forward.

"Michael-"

He doesn't answer, not with words, just holds himself above Alex as he chases every feeling that is building up inside him. Michael feels his arm shaking again, they'd done the same thing last night when he'd been overwhelmed by everything happening as he’d held himself up above Alex. Because it's been months upon months since he's had Alex like this. And if he's being honest, also never quite like this. Everything feels better now, he doesn't have the impending sense that when this is done, when they're sated and letting their bodies cool, that it won't mean one of them is planning their escape. Because he's home, and neither of them are leaving now. There was last night and waking up this morning and Michael knows that there is going to be a tonight as well.

A future.

He leans down, pressing his lips to Alex's chest, to the space near his heart where he'd been injured by the crazed bootmaker. Michael slows his thrusts enough to find the scar - small and barely visible but another constant reminder of how close he came to losing Alex forever - and kisses it again. He doesn't know if Alex knows what he's doing, until Alex slides a hand up his neck and into the hair at his nape, guiding him up to kiss him again that Michael thinks he does.

"I'm right here," Alex breathes against his lips, short kisses over and over, their foreheads pressed together tightly. "I got you."

His hips jerk faster, and he feels Alex tighten around him as he spills onto his stomach. Michael presses down towards him, keeping their foreheads pressed together, catching every sound that escapes Alex’s lips. He feels Alex’s hands on his back, gripping his ass, fingers digging into the skin and muscle, urging him on. It doesn’t take much longer before Michael’s own orgasm hits, ripping through him with one final thrust, Alex holding him still as he spills into him. He chokes out an embarrassingly loud moan into Alex’s mouth, overwhelmed by everything he is feeling, before sealing his lips around Alex’s own.

Neither moves right away, and Michael feels Alex’s hands on his back, fingers tracing patterns along the skin as their lips continue to brush together. Gently, he falls forward, his arm no longer caring to support him, and he tucks his face into Alex’s neck, pressing a kiss to the underside of his chin. Alex shifts his arms, one hand moving up to bury itself in his curls, and Michael leans into the touch.

He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to stop touching Alex, not yet. Maybe not ever. But there’s cum cooling on Alex’s chest, and Michael allows himself to be pulled back to the present, that they should probably clean up first.

But it's that thought which has him thinking about last night again, and this morning, and how eventually they're going to get dressed, and they're going to have to face whatever the day brings. But tonight, when it's all said and done - he won't be going back to the junkyard to an empty trailer. No, tonight will be different. Tonight will mark their new beginning, new steps forward in their relationship.

On the coffee table, his cell phone buzzes from where he'd left it last night. Whatever and whoever it is can wait a little longer, he thinks. He has something - someone - more important to take care of first.

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #notso writes fanfic #hope you like this anon <3 #itried.gif

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lovesanmotion · 3 years

Text

mafia!ateez reacts: spying on s/o

🌷 This is in celebration of my 600 followers milestone!

🌷 Flower: Gerberas

Scenario:

They were unexpectedly called to come into their Seoul based office for an urgent meeting. Without hesitation, they obliged and are now seated in one of the most important meetings they have ever had.

As the consigliere continues to report about another mafia family in the country, they stopped at a picture of you, branded as the most vulnerable family member to the opposing boss and is heavily guarded. In order to receive further information about them, the consigliere happily pointed to him, as he finds him fit for the job. Being within your age gap, they see him as someone who could lead and be assisted to this mission. And he gladly accepted the given mission. Enrolling in the same university as you and taking up the same course as you.

Hongjoong:

As he was walking towards the Communication and Arts building, he heard two people talking and giggling behind him. As he turns his head to glance at them, his eyes froze at the sight of you. He came eye to eye contact with his prime target, and how did you stole his heart with just one look. He hated to admit it but you look much better than the photos he's seen, the developed photographs didn't gave justice to your ethereal features. But he shook his head, he had to get close to you, know all about you and have you bare everything to him. And then betray your trust. He hated his ultimate goal but there was no way he is going to betray his first family.

Seonghwa:

He was rush as he was going to be late for his first class in the university. Pulling his glasses up from his nose bridge to his eyes, Seonghwa ran from the gates towards the Lecture Hall, as he was checking the time in his wrist watch, his body collided with a rather small and petite frame.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking" the female voice spoke. Seonghwa held his hand out for you to take, to which you gladly accepted. As you got up, Seonghwa's eyes widened. It's you.

"No no it's obviously my fault. I'm the one who isn't looking." Forcing himself to give you a tight lipped smile, Seonghwa felt embarrassed and his heart pounding inside his chest. Realizing that he was still holding your hand, he immediately lets go. But the feeling of your hand in his still lingered.

"You're new here aren't you? It's my first time seeing you here!" You beamed. Seonghwa who chuckled lightly, nodded his head.

"I'm Park Seonghwa"

"Y/N Y/L/N"

A million thoughts swarmed Seonghwa's head. But one floated among the rest. So this is what falling in love at first sight feels like.

Yunho:

No matter how many times he's denied it to himself, the feelings continue to grow stronger. The midterm exams were nearing and Yunho had a study session with you in the library and then at her place after classes. Everytime Yunho tried to bring up about asking you and your family, he couldn't do it. A small part of him had a tight grip hold on his tongue that prevented him from saying anything about his real mission. He hated the feeling of having to live a double life. Yunho wondered, if you and him were born in another life, minus all the mafia lifestyle surrounding you both, will the happily ever after really come true to life?

Yeosang:

He followed you everywhere around the university's campus. Even though you saw him as a "friend", Yeosang kept true and loyal to his given mission. But everytime he was referred by you as just a friend, a part of him crumbles in pain. He didn't know why he was feeling like this, until he opened up to his mafia family's doctor - someone who knows all his secrets.

"Don't tell me...you've grown to care for her?" The doctor asks, peering a look at him. Yeosang stared blankly at the white ceiling. Was it love? Was it love that was growing inside of him for you? But it can't be. He hated to rat you out to his own family. He has to. Right?

San:

Everyday, San felt like going on a constant war with his head and heart. His head told him to stay focused on the mission, handing the information he collected to his family and raiding your's. But his heart told him that that wasn't he wanted. That his heart told him that he wants to hold your hand and be able to spend every waking and sleeping moments with you. Due to stress and anxiety, San punched the wall of their base office, leaving a deep crooked circle.

"Sanie, who are those people?" He lifted his head up, squinting his eyes at the two men wearing suits. From the style of guns they are holding, he knew that those men were from his. He had kept delaying the information, the office heads getting frustrated at him they sent a few men on you and him. Quickly, San stood in front of you and pulled the trigger once, twice, thrice and four times. A defeated sigh left his lips.

"This is who I truly am, Y/N"

Mingi:

Even though he got the information, he couldn't just betray you like that. He hated having to rat you out after that. But he would never admit it to himself that he has fallen for you. Back then, he would only try to be friendly and get on you and your family's good side, but then Mingi found it inevitable to get away from you. His blood would boil whenever another guy would get close to you.

'But you have no right to' a small voice would tell him.

"Hey Song, did you get any information on her today?" The armory guard asked as he handed to him his newly ordered gloc nine 9mm that comes with a golden handle.

He didn't want to use his words, instead, he slowly shook his head. Even though he did, a little lie wouldn't hurt him.

"Can't wait for that blasted family to be wiped off the planet." He sneered. Mingi glared at him, wondering if he would pass as a good dummy to test his new gun.

Wooyoung:

"Flirt but don't fall" that's what he'd usually tell himself. He would casually throw pick up lines at you, try to kiss your cheek and bite your hand. You'd let him since you two were only platonic. Until one morning, Wooyoung woke up being fed up having to act as someone else. He woke up that day hating what he is and what he does. But he couldn't just out of the blue. Or maybe he could? He could create his own plan of eloping with you, leaving the mafia lifestyle behind and then settling in a new country with new names and starting over again as regular people. As much as Wooyoung loved to daydream, he knew that would never work.

Jongho:

Jongho did his very best to leak everything wrongly to his mafia family. Even though he was greatful for them for taking him in when he was just a boy, he knew he had to protect the one that makes him want to live. Every information that he got a hold from you, Jongho would revise them in such a way that his group wouldn't be able to trace back to you, that they were, if realizing, doing a suicide mission on themselves. And maybe, just maybe, if his mafia family got wiped, maybe he could start a new life with you this time.

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curlybookwriter0294 · 3 years

Text

Term: Jealously

Summary: Jealously: A word that generally refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety.

It is a term that Raven had often felt among other people but never on herself. She had felt anger, fear, worry and other emotions within herself, but never the emotion of jealously.

She had always thought she would never feel the need to be jealous of anyone or anything. She had always found it useless whenever she had felt a wash of jealously that would come from other people. She had never understood why people would feel that way towards another human being. However, her thoughts on the term had changed recently.

Very recently.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the DC universe!!! I just own the plot!

AN: I cannot believe that DamiRae week 2021 is about to be over!! I have seen many great works of art and fics and I truly hope that you guys had fun this week! And I truly hope that you guys will like this little beauty because it is Pre- DamiRae lol

Jealously: A word that generally refers to the thoughts or feelings of insecurity, fear, and concern over a relative lack of possessions or safety.

It is a term that Raven had often felt among other people but never on herself. She had felt anger, fear, worry and other emotions within herself, but never the emotion of jealously.

However, her thoughts on the term had changed recently.

Very recently.

She tried to tear her lavender gaze away from a couple that was dancing in the middle of the ballroom that was filled with other rich and famous citizens of Gotham City. The woman had long auburn hair that was swaying back and forth gently against her dark blue off the shoulder dress that she was wearing. Her partner that she was dancing with had short dark hair, forest green eyes and olive skin, wearing a fancy black and white suit paired with a short green bow tie.

“They would make such a lovely couple don’t you think?” Raven hears an elderly woman ask her in a hush whisper, leaning in close as if not to disturb the pair that was circling back and forth in a waltz even though the tune of a classic Beethoven was playing around them loudly. “I can see the headlines now: Damian Wayne and Bethany Rosewater Officially Together Finally,” the older woman giggled at the made-up title that she had thought of. “Ah, young love. Do you have a boyfriend miss?”

Raven managed to look away to look down at the short heavy-set woman that was standing next to her. She gave her a tight smile. “I… don’t unfortunately,” she answered the woman, trying to swallow down a sudden tightness that she was feeling in her chest.

The kind gray haired woman eyed Raven up and down, taking in her black dress that she was wearing, frowning slightly at the sight of her plum long hair that had fallen over her pale shoulder. “Hmmm,” she said, and Raven wanted so badly to roll her eyes but held herself back. “You are…interesting looking. I am sure that you will find someone soon dear.”

Raven sighed heavily at the woman before turning her attention back towards the pair that was still dancing gracefully on the dance floor. She studied Bethany’s face as Damian swung her around, smiling ear to ear as she spun around in a small circle before she had collided gently against his chest. Raven’s eyes widen slightly when she could’ve sworn that she had saw Damian’s upper lip twitch upwards which made her breathing hitched slightly and her chest tighten once more.

Her whole body froze when she had felt a prick from her finger on the wine glass that she was holding and looked down at the cracked surface and realized if she had squeezed it any further it would’ve shattered under her hold.

“Excuse me,” Raven said to the woman, walking backwards so she could get away from the crowd around her. She tried to calm her sudden wave of emotions as she tries to find somewhere to clear her mind. She tipped her head slightly when she spotted an open balcony and quickly made her way over to it. “Air. That’s what I need.”

She leaned over the railing of the balcony, wondering why she had decided to go to this stupid gala event in the first place. She rolled her eyes when she remembered that it was his idea to invite her to represent the rest of the Titans because they had helped stopped several crimes in the city of Gotham when the Dark Knight had asked for assistance to stop a villain from terrorizing citizens of Gotham.

Raven was confused when Damian had asked her to represent the Titans and not someone like Kori who is one of the leaders of the team. Dick Grayson was no go because he has to show up to the gala to show face for the Wayne Enterprises along with Damian who was the son of Bruce Wayne.

She had only spoken to the younger Robin once when Bruce Wayne and Dick came over to speak to her briefly before going their separate ways to mingle with the guests. Damian was preoccupied speaking with board members and her.

Bethany Rosewater.

Raven had seen the auburn-haired woman before on some model magazine that Garfield Logan had shoved into her face one day. Apparently, she’s the daughter of some board member of the company and her father is close friends with Bruce hence why Damian had danced with her. She had seen other pictures of her in the magazine as well as several photos on her Instagram account and some of them were with Damian which had thousands of likes on it.

She didn’t mean to scroll through the page. In all honesty at the time, she didn’t know that she was doing it until she had spent all night going through each picture that Bethany had posted. Raven could remember some of the comments that were written underneath pictures of Bethany and Damian and it had made Raven frown at each one.

“They would make such a cute couple!”

“Ugh, she’s so lucky! I mean, just look at him!”

“Maybe they are already dating but is keeping it under wraps?”

Raven had almost broken her phone from reading all the comments before she had managed to shut off her phone and put aside her.

She doesn’t understand why she was feeling this way towards a woman that she barely knows. She doesn’t understand why she should care at all really. Granted, Bethany is beautiful and Damian is… she even couldn’t think of a word to describe the the green eyed Robin but knew that he was more than decent looking in that department and that was why the entire Gotham City wants the model and the heir of Wayne Enterprises to be together and the more she thinks about the possibility of them becoming an IT couple, the more her chest would burn at the thought.

Raven’s amethyst eyes widen in surprise when she realizes as to why her chest was burning and why she had stormed out of the ballroom when she had grown tired of watching them dancing. She placed her hand over her chest in hopes to calm down her beating heart that was pumping fast.

Raven was jealous.

Jealous.

The daughter of Trigon was jealous, and it was an emotion that she had felt on others and never on herself. Raven had no reason to ever feel jealous on anyone! She had always thought it was a useless emotion wasted for ridiculous reasons that had caused war and chaos throughout time and here she was… feeling jealous of a woman.

The real question that Raven must ask herself was why: why was she jealous of that woman that was dancing with Damian?

Was it because of the way that she had looked tonight at the gala? Raven shook her head no at the question. Was it because of that elderly rich woman that had mentioned that they would make a great couple? Again, Raven had shook her head no at the question. Then what was it that made Raven jealous?

“She… she made him smile,” she whispered to herself, balling a fist that was on the railing of the balcony when she had finally answered her own questions. “It was because of the smile.”

There are only a few people that can manage to bring out a smile from the former assassin. And when he does smile, it would bring warmth throughout her body when she feels a calm emotion that would come from him whenever he does twitch his upper lip ever so slightly. She shouldn’t feel jealous over the fact that someone other than her or the other members of the Titans made him smile.

No. It was something else. Something deeper than that and Raven needs to figure out what it is and resolve it.

“The party is inside Raven. What are you doing out here?”

Raven turned around to find Damian leaning against the entryway of the building with his arms crossed and his brow lifted as he studied her. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “I needed a minute,” she told him truthfully, knowing that it wasn’t a lie. “What are you doing out here? Won’t Bethany Rosewater miss you?”

Damian snorted as he leaned off the entryway to walk over to stand next to Raven on the balcony. He leaned his back against the railing to stare at the guests inside the Wayne Manor. “She’s preoccupied at the moment,” he answered her when he had spotted the auburn-haired woman mentioned talking to someone. “There’s something bothering you,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone after a lull of silence.

Raven shook her head at him. “I just needed a minute. That doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong,” she explained to him with a small sigh.

“Raven…” Damian said sternly, lifting his forest eyes to stare into her indigo ones and Raven knew that he could tell that she was lying to him and backed away when he leaned in closer to her. “Tell me what is bothering you.”

Even though she was in heels, Damian was still towering over her with his height as he walked closer to her when she tried to back away from him. “Damian…” she warned him, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from coming any closer towards her. “Back off.”

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. I would also suggest that you don’t lie to me as well.”

“Why does it matter what I feel?” she asked him with a scoff, crossing her arms across her chest.

Damian paused his steps and cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes at her as if she had just asked a ridiculous question and in his opinion she did. “It matters to me Raven. Tell me.”

She thought about telling him. Even if she doesn’t truly know exactly what she wanted to tell him because it is all confusing to her to experience an emotion that is foreign to her and doesn’t exactly know how he would react to it. All she could do was shake her head and turned away from him to start walking back inside. “I’m going back inside. You should also before Bethany starts to look for you.”

Raven’s breath got caught in her throat when Damian grabbed her wrist to make her stop walking inside. She tried to concentrate on the guests that were inside the manor chatting with one another when she couldn’t ignore a wave of irritation that was coming from him. “Not until you tell me what is wrong.”

Raven knew at this point the former assassin won’t give up on his quest to find out what is bothering her and sighed when she broke free of his hold that he had on her wrist. “Are you…together with her?” she whispered, and she wasn’t exactly sure how she would feel about his answer.

Damian knitted his brows at her question, wondering why it concerns her when it shouldn’t. Why would the most powerful empath concern herself something ridiculous? “Everyone wants us to be. Father, her father,” he finally told her when silence fell over them and he walked back over to the railing of the balcony to lean against it. “Told us that it would be good for the company and for our families if we’re together…” he stopped talking when Raven’s face became unreadable. “However, do not concern yourself in this ridiculous matter because I have no interest in her.”

Raven felt her beat of her heart slow down at his answer and nodded at him. She gave him a small smile. “I see. Thank you for telling me, Damian. I should go back inside now.” She started making her way back to the gala that was inside the manor but paused when Damian spoke again.

“I am interested in someone else, Raven.”

Raven turn her head slightly to look at him. She watched him leaned causally against the railing of the balcony with a balled fist at his side. His emerald eyes wasn’t looking at her when he had told this. Instead, his eyes were focused on the ground in front of him. “Oh?” she said, lifting her brow with interest. “Is it someone that I know?”

Damian didn’t answer her as he leaned off the railing. His face was blank as he walked closer to her and Raven held her breath when he leaned in close to her and could feel his warm breath against her ear as he spoke into it lowly. “One day you will find out Raven.”

Raven released her breath that she was holding when Damian disappeared inside the manor, leaving her to her thoughts as she processed the whole conversation. She was relieved to hear that he didn’t have a crush on Bethany Rosewater, and she knew that one day he will tell her who he was interested in.

For some odd reason——she had a tiny suspicion of who it could be even though he technically didn’t reveal of who it was, and her stomach fluttered at the thought of it as she walked back inside with a smile on her face.

#damirae week 2021 #damirae #damian x raven #raven x damian #jealous raven #gala setting #raven roth #robin #damian is robin

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damn-stark · 4 years

Text

Trio~ Ellie & Dina Imagine

Ellie x Fem!reader x Dina

Requested by

A/N- I love this :) anyway I combined them cause they matched up, hope you guys don’t mind!

Warning- fluff!!

———-

What’s the official definition of liking two people at the same time, with equal amounts of passion?

Uhh..probably in everyone else’s mind, weird for one. For you, inside the depths of your confused mind and tangled heart...weird. Not in the sense that liking...loving two people at the same time is weird. It’s just weird in the sense that all the feelings just collided with one another, creating this big twister of confusion and frustration. Not only because it was two people, but because those two people. Dina and Ellie to be exact were also your best friends.

The messed universe was just playing a cruel, cruel joke on you. It’s not like it could be nice and treat you normal and just make you like one person, no, it wanted you to suffer. Suffer already in a damaged, infected filled world. Cruel.

Nonetheless here you were, in Jackson, trying to drown out your mind in the least damaging and best way you could find. Just simply listening to music. Watching people dance and watching Ellie walk in.

Wait.

Oh.

Ellie.

You clear your throat and turn your back to face her, taking in a huge gulp of your drink before setting the cup down. Suddenly feeling beads of sweat form on your forehead on how nervous you got. Did she notice?

“Y/N.”

Quickly you swallow the rest of your drink, the lump feeling rough against your throat at how fast the liquid travels down. “Ellie.” You greet, pretending to be surprised that she was behind you, even if you had seen her and heard her coming your way.

Nice way to act nonchalant.

Not.

You turn around and show her a smile, “hey...Ellie.”

Smooth.

“What are doing here all alone?” Ellie questioned as she swiped a drink from the bar.

You shrug and grab your empty cup, “just enjoying the night.”

A sudden cute and familiar laugh enters the room, your attention getting stolen by the girl your heart was also gushing about, the sight of her perfect sweet smile making you grin to yourself, but being sure not to stay out of focus with Ellie in front of you.

“I just wanted to say,” Ellie continued, scratching the back of her before looking back at her girlfriend Dina.

Was that forgotten to say? That Ellie and Dina were not only your best friends, or your crushes, but they were also dating. That’s like the cherry on top of the perfectly good sundae that you would see on salvageable food magazines; “actually ask, I guess,” Ellie paused, your eyes flickering to Dina who was slowly making her way over, stopping to chat with every person that stopped her; “you know what, I think it’s better to go outside.”

You nod and leave your empty cup on the table before leaving to follow after her, Dina quickly notices and follows after the both of you, her arm wrapping around your shoulder once she reaches your side.

“Hi, y/n.” She greets happily, a trait you admire.

You grin, trying to calm the heat that crept onto your cheeks. “Hey, Dina.” You look down at her growing stomach and can’t help but let out a giggle, “how’s the little guy?”

Ellie laughs as she pushes the door open, a cold breeze instantly hitting your face at the action.

“The little girl,” Dina corrects, “is fine.”

You shake your head and hold her hand that was wrapped around your shoulders, “it’s a boy, I’m telling you.”

“And when it turns out to be a little girl and proves you wrong, I will demand some sort of apology. I’ll think about it, but until the baby can prove you wrong, just be prepared.”

“Ahh, okay, you got it.”

Ellie falls by your other side and wraps her own around you, the gestures and feeling of being in both girls embrace making your heart swell. Truly if life could be just these moments, there will be no need to complain. But alas life was full of ugly infected and other humans that acted as wild as the monsters that roamed the streets.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about, Ellie?”

Said girl, slightly turns to Dina, both sharing a look before her green eyes turned to you and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Oh, let’s wait until we get to my house.”

You offer a short nod, before walking in silence, the nerves you were now feeling, upsetting your stomach and making all shaky, letting your mind come up with theories.

Does Ellie know the crush you have on her girlfriend? Or does Dina know you have a crush on Ellie? Or, or had they both caught to how weird your heart was and knew you liked them both?

Hell. Could this anticipation be over? Walking felt like walking on hot coals, that was never going to come to stop since the pace you all were walking was incredibly slow. Was this how teenage girls felt before when in proximity of the people they liked?

“So…” Ellie rolled out before throwing herself on the snow covered backyard that was outside her little home, and behind the home Joel Miller once used to live at. “About this thing I wanted to ask...or Dina and I wanted to ask.”

You swallow thickly and help Dina, sit by you on the snow, all of you unbothered by the wet feeling the snow is going to leave.

“I’ve noticed or—”

“I’ll say it.” Dina cut off Ellie, the girl shooting Dina a grateful smile.

“First” You bravely interject, feeling incredibly hot even if the weather outside was freezing, “I want to share that,” you hesitate, fear pulling down your confidence that you had managed to build on your walk here. The figures of the two girl’s you liked made your heart pound in your chest. The same fear wrapping you in a dangerous and stupid bubble of self doubt and insecurity, holding you back from finally confessing feelings that have been wanting to tear away and reveal themselves.

Did you really want to ruin this perfect friendship with your two best friends? What if neither of them liked you, even if the signs were there. The lingering stares and touches, the all nighter conversations you would have. Special and small moments stolen that made them even that more special to you.

What if they didn’t feel them the same way and you were just some weirdo? What if...No! No more hiding.

“I” you begin to stammer, feeling your cheeks burn hotter, “I like you guys, I have for a while,” both girls part their lips and just share a look with one another and let you finish. “Not in the friendship type of way, but in something more than that, I..I love you guys. Not only one, but both. And I know that may sound weird, or stupid but I do and I can’t help contain it anymore, I had to confess before my heart exploded or before.”

“Y/N.” Dina grinned, her hand grabbing yours with an assuring grip, “we love you too. We actually wanted to talk to you about that right now before you interrupted.”

Your eyes widen and you express a soft “oh” looking between Ellie and Dina, before a happy grin spread on your features. “Well I feel relieved now,” you reveal, letting your head rest on Dina’s lap.

“We’ve known for a while,” Ellie confesses with a playful smirk, “you’re not too good and hiding it.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “well I’m sorry, it’s just hard telling the girls you like how you feel.”

Dina chuckles and caresses your cheek, her other hand cradling Ellie’s cheek as she moved to rest her head on her lap as well. “It doesn't matter, we all know now and I think it’s time we do something about it.”

“Like?” You press with a raised eyebrow.

“Go on a date.” Ellie finishes for her.

“Ok,” you smile warmly, “what will it be? Movies and some warm food? Or a picnic outside of these walls? What does baby J want to do?”

Dina shakes her head, “she likes the idea of a movie. A Christmas movie.”

You chuckle, “sounds nice. I knew he would like that.”

Ellie copies your laugh and Dina responds by standing up and letting you both drop to the snow covered ground. “You guys are not funny.” She turns around and begins to stomp away, Ellie and you both quickly jumping to your feet and following after her. A happy grin on your face that was impossible to wipe off, not only because you were enjoying your time with your girls, but it had finally been time to reveal your feelings, it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders and you could float into a happy abyss.

Finally after months of hiding, you could act yourself. Finally.

You call out after her. “How much do you want to bet, it's going to be a baby boy?!”

Dina shakes her head and keeps marching away, “not funny. I’ll bet nothing.”

“Just so you know, Ellie and I are going to win this bet.” You smile, “mark my words.”

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shadows-and-science-gone-mad · 3 years

Text

[CONTENT WARNING: scenes of graphic violence, gore, death, & cannibalism]

Talos 1193-7-E. October 6, 3738.

Thirdborn stalks through the jungle, making almost no sound as his clawed feet gently meet the soft ground. His piercing eyes flick from side to side as he scans the underbrush for prey. So far, his hunt has been unsuccessful, only managing to find a few meager scraps of flesh on a long-desiccated carcass. Plenty to sate his own appetite, but not enough. His clan is counting on him to return with enough food for everyone.

A sound in the brush causes him to halt. His head snaps toward the source of the noise. As he stares intently into the vegetation, waiting for another sign to strike, the sound repeats. Thirdborn raises his reptilian head skyward and inhales deeply. The scents of the forest seep into his brain, mixing with the thousands of memorized odors he has gathered from countless hunts. He filters out the ambient background scents until he identifies the specific odor associated with the noise he heard.

A blade-snout.

Dangerous and difficult to take down, but more than enough to feed him and his clan.

He resumes his hunt, now moving in the direction of the blade-snout’s foraging. Slowly, his quarry begins to come into view. Its body is about the size of a rhinoceros, with a dark-grey coloration leading into a brilliant red on its face. It is facing away from Thirdborn, but he can still see the meter-long serrated cranial crest that gives the beast its name. He’s faced this sort of prey before, but he will have to be extremely careful if he is to successfully kill it. He crouches even lower, his belly almost touching the forest floor. He silently slinks towards his quarry, inching ever nearer. His leg muscles tense, and he prepares to spring on his unwary victim.

Suddenly, the foliage across the clearing explodes. Thirdborn’s carefully focused hunt is ruined as another reptilian leaps from the brush, snarling as it collides with the blade-snout’s great body. The intruder’s long claws sink into the rough hide, anchoring it in place as it begins to bite and slash at its quarry. The blade-snout bellows in surprise and pain, and begins shaking its body, trying to dislodge its attacker.

But, the predator was anticipating this.

As the blade-snout rears onto its hind legs, the predator reaches under its neck with one of its muscular arms. It grabs ahold of the blade-snout’s head, steering both hands clear of the deadly horn. Flexing its powerful muscles, it quickly twists the head at a sharp angle. A snap of bone, and the blade-snout’s struggling body goes limp, its neck broken. The predator drops its deceased prey to the ground, grabs ahold of its hind legs, and begins to drag it off into the brush.

As Thirdborn’s surprise at the sudden attack begins to fade, he truly notices the identity of the interloper. It looks almost exactly like him, only around 30% larger, and with a much blunter muzzle. A soft growl emits from his throat as he recognizes it: Firstborn, his older brother.

The rudimentary society these reptiles have begun to develop places an enormous value on physical strength and hunting prowess. As such, the oversized, powerful Firstborn seized control of the pecking order almost as soon as he reached breeding age. Meanwhile, Thirdborn, while still plenty strong, grew to be smaller-than-average, so occupied a slot near the bottom of the clan’s hierarchy. As one of the clan’s few males, he was still made to venture into the forest daily to gather food, but his meticulous planning and stealth skills were looked over in favor of his brother’s raw power.

This has fostered a deep-seated jealousy in the younger reptile. One that is certainly not helped by his brother’s current commandeering of his kill.

Thirdborn lets off an annoyed snort before turning back into the brush and stalking away. By the time he returns to his clan’s camp, he is not surprised to see his brother gloating over his accomplishment, as the others feast on the blade-snout’s flesh, utterly enthralled by his story. Thirdborn slinks over to the gnarled tangle of roots serving as his bed, drops to the ground and curls up. He has no desire to partake in celebrating an accomplishment that his brother stole from him. He closes his eyes, places a clawed hand over his head, and does his best to ignore the revelry around him.

Orbit of Talos 1193-7-E. October 6, 3738.

Floating weightless in the uppermost reaches of the planet’s atmosphere, the ancient dark matter entity known as Pulse watches the reptilian drama playing out below.

When one is nearly as old as the universe itself, one’s options for entertainment exhaust themselves fairly quickly. And this is certainly the case for Pulse. It has spent a veritable eternity wandering across the universe, doing little more than passively observing the goings-on around it. It hasn’t been totally idle — many a culture throughout the universe has depictions of angels or devils that resemble its rough outline of a form. But, it’s been millions of years since it last interfered directly with a developing civilization.

Something about these reptiles, though, has captured its interest.

Perhaps it feels some sort of connection with them. Perhaps their acts of joy and jealousy remind it of a simpler time, when it too felt such things. Perhaps these raw unfiltered emotions reached out to it across time, and drew it here to their source. Or perhaps it’s just really, really bored. Whatever the reason, Pulse feels an undeniable urge to interfere with their development.

But, rather than the grand gestures it usually performs — arriving in broad daylight in a flash of lightning and fire, trying to inspire fear and awe in its observers — today it plans to employ a much more... subtle method.

As the daylight sky blackens into night, Pulse descends through the atmosphere, landing gently on the outskirts of the reptiles’ camp. It surveys the sleeping creatures, most of them piled around the mutilated carcass of the blade-snout. Though it is an immensely-powerful being, trying to single out one individual among the tangle of bodies and limbs is too risky. It could accidentally wake them all, making this whole ‘stealth’ endeavor a waste of time.

Instead, it glides over to a lone reptile, curled up amongst the roots of a tree, some distance from the rest of the pack.

It crouches, and places an amorphous hand onto the sleeping animal’s head. Due to the unique nature of its physiology, its entire body is an exceptional conductor of electricity, and is able to transmit electrical impulses through mere physical contact.

In this case, it is transmitting brainwaves.

It imparts the sleeping creature with a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of its billions of years of experiences.

This sort of knowledge is not meant to occupy the mind of an organic entity, and even such a trace quantity is enough to fundamentally rewrite such a being’s identity, down to its very core.

Its work done, Pulse releases the reptile from its grasp. It then silently rises from the camp, returning to the upper reaches of the atmosphere, resuming its role as passive observer. It has set these events in motion, and now intends to simply watch them play out.

This should be interesting...

Talos 1193-7-E. October 7, 3738.

The morning sun illuminates the alien jungles of Talos, burning the nighttime darkness away with brilliant pink light. The nocturnal denizens of the forest retreat into their dens, as their diurnal counterparts take their place in the sun.

In the reptiles’ camp, the clan begins to stir. The females tend to the nests, distributing fresh meat to the elders and hatchlings who were unable to participate in the previous night’s feeding frenzy. The smaller males root through the dirt, searching for insects, small mammals, and tubers that can be added to the clan’s food stores. And, of course, Firstborn rises from his slumber, his shortened jaws stretching wide as he yawns away the night’s drowsiness.

He stretches his powerful limbs, and looks around his domain. As the largest male in the clan, all of the females mate with him, and him alone. All of the hatchlings, and even many of the young adults, were fathered by him. As he gazes upon his family, he can see all of his children, mates, and siblings going about their morning routines, exactly as they should.

All except for one.

With a snort, Firstborn stomps across the clearing to the huddled body of Thirdborn. While every other member of the clan has awoken and begun their work, his younger brother is still nestled up in his resting spot. Of course, this scrawny pariah would be so useless as to not even wake up when the morning comes.

Firstborn hisses at Thirdborn, trying to rouse him. It seems to have no effect; Thirdborn just continues to lie there, hands over its head, trembling softly. Firstborn responds to this lack of action by roaring, a loud scream that should be more than enough to wake him. Still nothing. Now seriously annoyed, Firstborn uses his powerful forelimb, and delivers a swift smack against the lout’s muzzle.

Thirdborn’s eyes snap open, and roll up to lock with Firstborn’s. But, something seems different about them. Instead of the cold amber gaze of the day before, his eyes are deep red, bloodshot, and are staring at his brother with an expression of blind, pure contempt.

No, not contempt.

Hunger.

Empty, meaningless, all-consuming hunger.

In a flash, Thirdborn erupts upward from his resting position. He impacts Firstborn square in the chest, fast enough to offset his reduced mass, and knock the larger reptile to the ground. Pinning his brother with his claws, he unhinges his jaw and clamps it around Firstborn’s throat.

Firstborn lets out a hellish scream, and tries to free himself from the smaller creature’s grip. In previous squabbles, he has never had problems overpowering Thirdborn. But now, his attempts to wrench his arms free only causes his attackers claws to dig in even deeper. Eventually, the claws break the skin, tear through muscle, and wedge themselves deep between the bones of his wrist.

His mind overwhelmed with confusion and agony, Firstborn attempts to cry out once again. But, his own bellows are cut off as Thirdborn tightens his grip around his neck. His breathing grows swift and sharp, and his mouth fills with the taste of his own blood, as his weaker sibling mercilessly crushes the life out of him.

When Firstborn finally stops struggling against his attack, and his body goes slack as the last flickers of life escape his brain, only then does Thirdborn release his grip on his throat. Dislodging his claws from the shredded tangle of tendons and muscles that were Firstborn’s arms, he raises his head skywards and screams. As long and as loud as he can. Blood fills his mouth, a mixture of his prey’s and his own, as his body seemingly fails from the extreme over-exertion of his violent act. As the air in his lungs finally runs out, he takes a step back from the still-warm body of his rival. He begins to rake his claws against Firstborn’s chest, carving long deep gouges into the flesh. He pries open the chest cavity, and begins to gorge himself on the entrails of his victim.

Naturally, this display of excessive savagery has attracted the attention of the rest of the clan. They have gathered around the cannibal’s brutal feast, and watch him with apprehension and fear. One of the older females, Firstborn’s favorite mate, slowly approaches Thirdborn. In an instant, before anyone has time to react, he whirls around and slashes her across the throat. She collapses in a heap, her body twitching as blood pours from the gaping hole in her neck. Thirdborn abandons his first kill, and shoves his muzzle into the open wound, beginning to consume the female’s body before she has even died.

The rest of the clan moves away from the bloodthirsty killer, but their movement draws his attention away from his feeding. He lets out a guttural hiss, unlike anything their species should be capable of producing, and charges at the creatures that were once his family.

Firstborn was only the beginning.

Talos 1193-7-E. June 16, 3739.

It has not even been a full year since Pulse visied this world and toyed with the mind of Thirdborn. And yet, if one had not seen the transformation occurring in real-time, one would never guess that the current Talos was the same planet it had visited.

Where once there were lush, vibrant jungles, now there is nothing but death. The great trees lie in ruin, the vegetation trampled into sludge, the rotting bodies of the planet’s myriad creatures baking and blackening in the sun, turning the once pink skies black as they slowly dissolve into nothingness. It would appear that, in the span of less than a year, the planet has completely died.

But, such an assessment wouldn’t be entirely accurate.

Talos didn’t die. It was killed.

From out of the mammoth carcass of a tusked grazer, a reptilian figure emerges. Its skin is caked with dried blood and flaking tissue, its claws drip with the putrefaction of its innumerable prey, and the decaying remains of the grazer’s entrails dangle from its rotting jaws, the lips completely deteriorated, revealing a tangled array of blackened teeth. It is almost recognizable as its former self, but twisted and broken beyond comprehension, its jagged body as fractured as its mind.

It scarfs down the fetid organs in a few swift gulps, before burying its snout once again into its victim’s broken thorax. This is all it has done in nearly a year — all it’s even capable of doing anymore. This basic act of consumption has completely overwhelmed its very being. What began as mere jealousy has evolved and warped into something far darker. Its metaphorical hunger made harshly, cruelly literal.

The creature once known as Thirdborn looks to the skies, spying a glimmer of starlight through the putrid clouds. And the spark of hunger flares once more in its shattered brain.

The murder of its sibling was nothing.

The massacre of its clan, a mere trifle.

Even the total annihilation of its homeworld is no longer enough.

It now hungers for existence itself.

It will consume it all.

And it will never, ever stop.

#my writing #alliance space #my ocs #pulse #ao-003 #science fiction #short story #violence tw #gore tw #death tw #cannibalism tw

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lauwrite1225 · 3 years

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Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria's life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : It's Finan Friday again!!! I have nothing to say beside, enjoy ;)

Warnings : fluff ;) and mention of death (you missed it don't you?)

Chapter 9 : And all the chaos crystallised, when you and I, supercollide

Vicky can’t stop thinking about what happened that night before they parted to sleep. The way she felt attracted by him, her heart fluttering when he cupped her cheek delicately with his calloused hand. At first, she feels a rise of blush on her cheek each time she crosses his eyes but Finan keeps acting as usual with her. He smirks, jokes and makes her no gifts during training. Though, at the end of the day, when he sits next to her to remove his shoes like last night, she wonders if he’s going to try something again.

“Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to use a gun.” He says, tossing his shoes away in the room and straightening to look her in the eyes. “Is that alright for ya?”

It takes her a moment to answer yes, waiting to see if he’d come closer but he doesn’t and simply smiles before laying on the mattress, wishing her a goodnight. And as she crawls in her bed, she can’t help the disappointment to rise. When she closes her eyes, it’s last night's event that plays over and over again in her mind, and each time she realizes how much she really did want to kiss him. The thought lets her sleepless, wondering how and why she feels so attracted to him. Finan is so different from every man she has ever dated before, standing tall with broad shoulders. But he has this childish expression when he smiles so unmatching the dark beard covering his jaw and cheeks making him endearing. His body is covered by old scars of the battles he fought before he died but during the past days, she has discovered that the wounds in his heart were far from healed. And maybe it’s what she likes about him, the way he opened himself to her and how she understood he could truly understand all the pain she’s going through.

Her heart swoons as she thinks about the promise he made her last night. As foolish and impossible to hold as it was, it’s terribly tempting to believe he could prevent her from suffering. And she finally falls asleep, a tired smile gracing her lips.

The next morning, when she walks outside for her training, Finan has settled cans on an old stoned wall falling into ruins. She joins him as he puts a small bullet in the opened rifle.

“It looks like those they have in carnivals.” She notices when he locks the rifle in a swift movement.

He grins, giving her the weapon. “It’s because it is.” The arm feels so heavy in her hands, she wonders how she’ll succeed to shoot with it. “It’s better to start.”

He steps behind her and starts to explain to her how to correctly aim by aligning the front and rear sight. She does as he asks and tries to shoot one of the cans. Obviously it’s a failure and soon after she pulls the trigger she hears the bullet ricochet on a stone as she stumbles at the force reflection of the rifle in her shoulder that she didn’t expect. Not discouraged, she accepts the new bullet Finan hands her and tries again. But after a few other failed attempts, she lets out a long frustrated sigh.

“It’s just concentration.” Osferth tells her as he watches from a bench in front of the house.

“If I have to concentrate for ten minutes to not miss a target it’s not going to be really useful.” She replies annoyed, putting another bullet in the barrel.

She positions herself again but before she starts to concentrate, she feels Finan close behind her. “Let me help ya.” He says softly as he puts his large hands over hers that she never realized being so small in comparison.

She tries to stay focused on the can in front but she can’t help but be too much aware of his chest against her back and his breath brushing her cheek as he levels his head to hers. She slows her breathing as Finan adjusts her position until her eyes, the two sights and the can are perfectly aligned.

“Now pull.” He whispers and she immediately obeys.

She lets out a small huff of joy when the metallic sound of the beer can being perforated resound in the forest. “I succeeded.” She exhales the air she didn’t realise she was holding back.

She turns her head to smile proudly at him and their noses briefly touch. She bites the inside of her bottom lip when she notices how his eyes stare down at her mouth almost eagerly. But when Osferth claps his hands to congratulate he moves away, leaving her a second time with red cheeks.

The rest of her training she succeeds to shoot other cans but she doesn’t feel like rejoicing as a deep frustration grows in her chest. When Sophie comes later, she tries to distract herself by questioning her about Osferth and her while she helps her prepare a quiche for the dinner.

“He was coming regularly to the supermarket and somehow he was always coming to my register. One day I wrote my number on the receipt but this idiot doesn’t have a phone, so he waited outside with flowers until I was finished to tell me he couldn’t text me.” She explains with a fond smile.

“That’s so sweet.” Vicky smiles, cutting the cheese in small cubes.

Sophie nods, breaking an egg in a bowl. “And you? Did you have anyone before leaving?”

“Oh no, I was as free as the wind, and still am in fact.” She chuckles as she gathers the cheese and places it on the dough.

Sophie is weirdly silent and when she looks up, she’s in fact staring at her with narrowed eyes with a small smirk dancing on her lips. “Finan and you seem close.” She says, focusing on her eggs again.

Vicky pauses for a brief instant, pinching her lips. “It’s just that we’ve been through a lot together those days. It builds friendships.” She replies to try to prevent the conversation from taking a direction she isn’t feeling comfortable with.

“Did he tell you why he left the others?” Sophie asks, not ready to give up, which reminds Victoria of Rebecca.

“He did.”

“So he told you of his wife?” Vicky nods slowly, her heart squeezing at the memory of his despair when he talked about her. “Osferth asked him about her, how their life was together, but he just avoided the subject. She’s obviously long gone now, but Osferth is sure it ended more badly than Finan pretends.” The english woman averts her eyes, knowing the truth. “He told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Victoria admits while Sophie now pours milk in the bowl.

“See? He trusts you.” She half smirks at her.

During the dinner, between laughter, she catches Finan staring at her but each time, when she tries to stare back, he looks away. The game is as entertaining as annoying but mostly, she doesn’t understand why he keeps playing with her. That night in the darkness, she was at his complete mercy, this morning during her training too, and yet, each time he didn’t go further. So, when she sees him going outside after dinner, she decides to follow him.

“What are you nervous about now?” She interrogates him as he searches for something in the car, knowing perfectly well it’s in fact his pack of cigarettes.

He turns around, raising a surprised eyebrow at her. “What are ya doin’ outside in the night? I thought wild animals were scarin’ ya.” He teases her to change the subject.

But, thinking back to her earlier conversation with Sophie, Victoria is determined to know what she is for him. She walks toward him until only a step separates them, Finan having to bow his head to look her in the eyes. “Sophie told me you refused to talk about your wife to Osferth.” She starts and ignores his eye roll. “Why did you talk about her to me? You could just have avoided this part.”

His fingers drum nervously against his thigh as he sighs. “I don’t know, I just felt comfortable telling you.” He shrugs and she can hear the uneasiness of his voice and his desire to change the topic quickly.

But Vicky isn’t about to let go. “But Osferth is your friend.” She replies, tilting her head.

“I thought we were friends too.”

She wonders if he meant his tone to be so dry but it undeniably settled a tension between them, the air seeming suddenly thicker between them. She makes a step and stretches a hand towards Finan’s cheek to prevent him from looking away. She holds his gaze no matter how heavy on her it is, a warmth growing in his brown pupils provoking the one in her belly. He slowly leans forward as her thumb brushes his beard, making him close his eyelids when his nose lightly touches hers. The way their heavy breaths start to mix is bewitching, her heart beating at an uncontrollable pace, but Finan keeps resisting.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” He opens his eyes. Now she can see the flicker of fear in them, the one that is holding him back and she finally understands. “I’m not going to disappear, Finan.” She whispers, her hand sliding in his unruled hair.

“I know.” He breathes and his palm settles hesitantly on her waist. “But you’re forever Vicky and I don’t want to mess it up.”

She acknowledges that it is scaring her as well, that in their situation acting foolishly could hardly be forgotten. But somehow, Vicky feels confident. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence that she's been dreaming of him first and that he was the one to come to knock at her door. Maybe it was already written.

Her fingers curl in his hair and she draws him closer. “We won't.”

And then his lips collide with hers, making her whine as a shiver runs down her spine. She closes her eyes, relishing at the feeling of his beard scratching her skin softly and the way their lips seem to dance in perfect coordination. Finan grips her hips to switch their positions, pushing her against the car while groaning. His mouth is hot and eager as he keeps kissing her until they are both out of breath.

She rests the back of her head against the car's window, Finan's body pressed against her as he buries his face in her neck, her fingers lightly grazing over the back of his neck. This instant seems out of time and out of space, nothing able to break it, as the only thing that matters is his breath caressing her skin, his thumb drawing a circle on her hip and the weight and warmth of him against her. Finan moves slowly, kissing her neck and jaw with a softness utterly different from the kiss they shared until he meets her eyes. He puts a strand of her blonde hair back behind her ear before letting his thumb draw the line of her red and now swollen lips. She grabs his wrist and pushes it away to reach for his mouth, already addicted to the feel of it against hers. When they parted for the second time, Finan dares this time to speak.

“Let's go back inside, it's freezing.” He whispers.

She wants to reply that she has never felt warmer than right now, stuck between him and a car, but the words fade in her throat and she simply follows him inside. Osferth and Sophie have already left to their own bedroom when they walk inside, though, it's not completely dark, a fire creaking in the old fireplace with the wood the two warriors have been cutting during the afternoon. She sits on the floor just in front, appreciating the heat of the flames, stretching her hands to warm them.

“Have you been holding back for long?” She asks when he sits beside her.

He chuckles lightly, staring at the flames while she can't look away from the orange light dancing on his face, making his pupils turn into amber. “I could have kissed ya in my dreams if it was possible.” He turns his head, smiling fondly. “But it feels better than a dream.”

She giggles, shaking her head. “You're such a flirt.” She teases him but it only makes him grin even more.

“I had a few years to train.”

“Old man.” She calls him, satisfied by his raised eyebrows and opened mouth as he pretends to be offended.

She laughs at him before leaning forward to kiss his expression away, her hand curving on his shoulder. She likes the way his growl vibrates on her lips as she settles on his lap, his arm wrapping around her waist to hold her closer.

It's late when they finally crawl to bed, Finan laying by her side. They have been sleeping in the same room or car for a few days now and she was already finding his presence near her reassuring. But there's something utterly more intimate and comfortable as his arms embrace her while she rests her head against his shoulder.

When she wakes up abruptly, the flames have faded and Finan isn't by her side anymore. Her breath is erratic and her body shaking. Her mind is still confused but she knows what it means, she dreamt of another death. It takes her a moment to remember what happened. It's the same forest and protagonists, but this time she was staring at Sihtric until an arrow hit him in the middle of his chest, the pain sharp and overwhelming.

Once she's calmed, she hears the noise from the kitchen and decides to see who's there. She feels relieved to see Finan, leaning over the sink while he washes some dishes. He doesn't notice her until she hugs him from behind, her ear pressed against his back to listen to the sound of his heartbeats. He turns around to face her, keeping his wet hands away from her.

“Good mornin' to ya too.” He greets her, grabbing a rag to dry his hands.

She simply hums against his chest, holding his waist tighter. “I dreamt of Sihtric.” She says after a moment, moving away from him.

Finan frowns, his hands gripping the counter. “His death?” She nods slowly and he can't prevent the smile from stretching his lips. “Then, we will be able to find him soon.”

Since they have found Osferth again, he is less reluctant at the idea of finding his last old friend, even if he told her he doubts the Dane to be as welcoming as the monk. But he hopes that water will flow under bridges and that they'll forget past resentment.

“We need to warn him too.” She says, stepping closer again.

“Warn who?”

Osferth's sleepy voice makes Victoria immediately step back to let a decent distance between Finan and her. But he doesn't seem to notice their sudden uncomfort as he sits at the table and pours coffee in a cup resting on it. When none of them have yet answered, he raises an eyebrow.

Finan clears his throat, walking away from Vicky. “She dreamt of Sihtric this night. We will be able to find him soon.”

The blonde looks at them with wide eyes. “You're going to leave?”

The Irishman hesitates, his hands clenching around the back of a chair. “Not now.” He stares at Vicky who he knows probably has the same idea in mind. “She needs a few nights to gather enough information, and we'll have to do research.”

Osferth nods, looking quite sad as he puts a sugar in his coffee. Vicky sits in front of him, lowering her head to catch his eyes. “Will you come with us?”

He shakes his head. “No, I have Sophie here.” He answers, staring at Finan, knowing he would be able to understand his choice.

“We'll come back, anyway.” Finan promises, patting his shoulder amicably. “I'm starting to like the place.”

“It's safe here.” Vicky adds with a small smile and Osferth can only nod at it.

“Good, because I would miss you two otherwise.”

Tag : @for-bebbanburg @osferth @maggiescarborough @finansarms @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby @solinarimoon

#the last kingdom #finan #finan the agile #tlk #fanfiction #finanxoc #somebody to die for #the old guard

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

Text

Himmeløyne [22/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: I have started my first original gothic story (it'll be much darker than this fic but can I offer you werewolves, vampires, 1970s Europe aesthetic as an incentive?). It's on Wattpad and I intend to update it every Wednesday, but I never stick to update schedules so... Here ya go: OUR LADY OF DARKNESS

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

The end of the abyss—that frightful stream of continuous fall and forceful uplift—it finally had an end. It was a large door. Smell of rain and storms, with the slick glisten of wet rock hugging the archway. A dark type of stone, jagged and natural, the door seemed to be carved into the side of a mountain. But the mirage ended where the rock began, there were no walls. No infrastructure. Just the green of the mirror world and two hunkering doors. The archway was carved in the shape of a snake; same as the kind that embellished the rigging of ships, tongue curled, eyes made of rings within rings.

A sequence of lettering—foreign, yet oh, so familiar—hovered in the mist, your mind scrambling to make sense of the words.

“Oracle, what is this place?”

The whisper was quiet, for a brief moment you worried that you were truly on your own in this stretch of emptiness.

I sense… something has been concealed from me. Its magic is fevered, dusted in loss. Pain. Desire. It is out of place. Out of time. The conjurer’s magic has the same energy as yours, only… stronger.

“Stronger?” You shuddered at the thought. After a pause, you asked: “You don’t see the door?”

Door? What door?

“What of the letters?”

I—No, I see nothing. Describe it to me.

“There’s a serpent on the door.”

A serpent? Does he eat his tail?

“No, his head marks the start of the archway, but his mouth is facing the ground.”

Then it is incomplete. An incantation must be needed to complete the image. What of the lettering?

“These letters, they’re different than common tongue or Asgardian runes. They aren’t Jotun either. They look… I don’t know. They look so familiar.”

Reach for them.

“What?”

Familiar magic has a tendency to want to be understood, that is why it feels familiar. Touch it.

You stuck your hand up, jumping on your tippy-toes to try and grab the incorporeal words floating above your head. In defiance, they simply rose higher up, further out of reach.

Do not reach with your body, Child of the Sky. Reach with your magic.

With an exhale, you stuck both hands high up in the air, conjuring the bristle of energy that raced across your spine during spellcasting. Remembering through muscle and memory of what it was like to be in control of your magic. Of what it was like to revel in its deliciousness, its wildness, its link to Loki. A swirl of warmth took shelter in your belly, that warmth you’d grown to love before it was ripped from you and replaced by the cold of Odin’s incantation.

Suddenly, the words began to sink, lowering themselves like feathers, at first, then with the heft of an arrow, and finally, a stone.

With a crash, the words burst into fire and embers, each ember digging into your skin in a sensory overload that formed echoes in the mist.

A version of you,—the shade whose voice you heard in the abyss—older, magic glowing a different hue of blue, in strange clothing, stood by the door. You were witnessing the construction of the doorway. Every splinter, fibre, rock and sand particle materialised as though you were undoing the wroth of a sandstorm to make way for a rock giant. A woman, with firebrand hair and soft features, stood beside you, she looked drained, weary. She had magic too, it was the colour of blood. The colour of fire. It flickered in and out around her body, as if fighting to take over.

There was a young boy clasping onto the shade’s hand. Aloof in expression, a scaly growth the colour of white sands on his elbows, ankles, neck and cheeks. He was a beautiful child, hair as soft as down, curls that fluffed in a way you could never get yours too. Eyes of a pure and deep blue. Ocean surface during a thunderstorm blue.

He looked at the shade the same way little Sigrid had when she’d waved her plump, little hand goodbye before following after the hunters. It made you yearn for something so pure with a fierce heart.

“There, that should do it,” the shade said as the door materialised from thin air. “Now, we need a seal so no one who wanders can know of this place.”

“Is this absolutely necessary?” the woman asked, hugging her frame as if she were cold.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but this is the only way I know for certain that what we’re doing now happens.” The shade’s voice felt dark, wizened in years, the same way Frigga spoke of grave matters. “This fortress is the only way he survived in my time. If we can’t change things, as the sorcerer said, then the least we can do is ensure things continue on their set path.”

“He’ll be trapped… for who knows how long? Centuries? Millennia? He’s just a boy.”

“He��s more than that,” the shade got down on one knee to look at the boy. From that angle, you could see the mangled, L shaped scars over each of her shoulder blades. They resembled the scars birds would suffer when their wings were ripped for medicines. “This is the only way he stays safe. I’ve already cemented the other enchantments. Time will not be felt here. He will not feel sadness or regret or the bitterness of solitude. He will sleep, as I once did, except… he will not be aware. And he will dream of only happy things. Then, when the time comes, I will jump. I’ll take him back with me.”

The firebrand woman showed doubt for the first time, “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve already done it.” The shade touched the other magic bearer’s shoulder, a comradery there. A closeness built from time and triumph, much like that kindred fire you shared with Sif. “Now, a phrase. A word. Anything to bind this lock to. Something unique.”

“Why don’t you choose it?” “Because I know myself. It has to be something I’d never choose so that she never knows it, and no mind reader can ever guess it should they stumble upon this place.”

“Vision,” the woman’s lips quivered with loss, but there was a bloom of hope in the tweak of her lips as your shade repeated the word.

The biting of the magic ended, and suddenly, you were alone again.

What happened? Child of the Sky? Are you there?

“I’m right here, Oracle,” you choked out, a tightness in your throat.

You were gone. One instant here, the next… nowhere. Somewhere. Between.

“I know how to open the door,” you took several steps back and then cleared your throat. With conviction and authority, you calmly said: “Vision.”

What did the magic reveal to you?

Your head was spinning from the fabrics of this mirror universe being so amateurishly tailored, so lacking in its design and purpose. The more you discovered, the more you began to doubt if this world was ancient; or if it was barely into its adolescence. “I do not quite understand it, yet. You said you were imprisoned here?”

Yes. I have been without body or memory for as long as I can remember.

The snake on the door began to slither till its mouth was at the top, and its tail was tucked firmly in its jaws. Then its eyes glowed the same colour as the child’s, thunderstorm blue. With a groan and a strike of something loud, the door peeled back. Beyond its threshold was a mutation of worlds, all collided in exquisite syzygy; aligned, misaligned, human, Asgardian, Jotun, and even the liquid blackness of space with pepper spots for stars.

“And how long ago was that?”

I—I do not… Centuries? Millennia? Aeons?

To busy your mind of doubt and fear as you stepped past the threshold and heard the door seal shut behind you, you toyed with the idea of understanding more of this world. “You said you could hear the beginning of your name… What was it?”

The whisper grew soft, warm. It sounded like ‘see’. Or was it the sea? Sea? Sea. Sea!

A garden shifted into the plane, then with a breath, a lake, then a cave, then a temple, then a waterfall, then a tower made of metal and glass. The world wasn’t fixed to a temporal setting, nor a specific location in space. It was like watching fire tell a story; brief, bright and constant.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

At the epicentre, laying on a stone tablet with a curtain of gold—that same curtain from the healing chamber—wrapped around like a fleece, was the child. Unaged. Beautiful. Asleep. He had no scaly growths like in the visions.

You took your steps with trepidation. Almost afraid to make a whisper even though the Oracle chanted ‘Sea!’ over and over. Its voice morphing into the very faint intones of a voice you knew all too well.

The world began to peel away the closer you got to the child. A presence was syphoning the magic, transmuting it for another purpose. A purpose that you now realised was meant to happen. Soon, a figure of pure light, with large wings of utmost magnificence, formed from the siphoned magics of the world. The Oracle was gaining form. The fleece turned grey and the boy began to stir. The magic of the sleep spell was broken.

You approached him slowly. Hands seeking out his aura. Then, in the most silver of voices you’d ever heard, he said, “You came. You said you’d come.” A smile of familiarity adorned his freckled laugh lines.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“Do you know me?”

He nodded.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“How?”

“From now.”

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“What’s your name?”

He seemed confused. Reeling back from the line you’d cast him for with that question. Bait in hook, he fished in the muddy waters that were your consciousness. You could feel his magic, abrasive as sand between toes, cool and wet, but also warm and sea-salt thick. He replied, “You haven’t given it to me yet. But you will return hers to her.”

He pointed to the Oracle’s figure, pulsating into a more corporeal form. The boy opened his hand and you knew instantly what he needed you to do before you thought to ask. A reflex. His magic extended to yours, carrying thought, and the very genesis of thought in its energy. You placed your face close so his hand could cover the cavity where your eye used to be.

Sugar. Berries picked from the wild thickets. A prick into padded thumb. Ooze of blood. A slight sting, then a scab and finally nothing, no marks, no evidence of the thorn in your thumb. He was projecting images of what he envisioned as he healed you. What the berries would taste like; apples. “You can open your eyes now. It was gold when we met. I kept it the same.”

Feeling no different than before, you opened both eyes for the first time since you stepped into Verdenspeil. With a tickle, the runes drawn on your hand and forehead sloughed off like skin cells. You could see the world without them. You could see through both eyes again. The shifting world shifted to a hexagon of mirrors. One, the sky shifting blue of your mother, the other, the ancient, world piercing gold of your father, your face held two eyes again.

“It’s… beautiful,” you looked down at the boy with your eyes. He showed teeth with his grin, pleased with himself. Pleased with your laugh of awe. “There was a boy in my village. Half as beautiful as you are. Half as joyful, with a smile and constellations marking his nose and cheeks too. He showed me kindness. His name was Baldrick. I shall call you Baldrick.”

“Now that you have spoken my name, remind her of who she is,” the boy said, glancing at the Oracle. “You know. You know but cannot believe.”

A gasp left your mouth. A mix of hope and disbelief. With the new eye, you could see the face of the Oracle beneath the light, beneath the enchantment that kept her hidden.

Sea! Sea! Sea! Sea!

“S-Sigrid.”

The Oracle hushed before exploding into a million, tiny pieces of energy. Out of the explosion was your mother, winged as the Valkyrie from legend, wearing the armour you had seen in the mirror prior to entering Verdenspeil.

“Y/N,” she said, lowering to the ground. Her hand cupped your face. You could barely feel her. “I have waited so long for this moment.”

“Mother,” you hugged her close.

A swirl of black formed once the mirrors of the world broke. Sigrid looked at you with panic.

“Listen, there isn’t time. Take the boy, “Sigrid removed a bracelet and cast it into the black-hole. A portal began to form, leading to what looked like a stone temple. “Take him and jump, it’ll lead you to the one with answers.”

“I don’t understand! Why can’t you come with us? How are you alive?”

“I’m not alive dear, sweet child. But I can promise this isn’t the last you’ll see of me. We will meet again, soon. I promise. But you must go, the world has fulfilled its purpose. There is no reason for it to exist anymore. It has already began to unravel.”

The mist began to turn sour, choking like poison.

You coughed, breathing through your sleeve, “But, as the Oracle, you said I had to take you to the source.”

“You are the source. You and the boy. Your magics are entangled. The maze was a lie, one devised by you. This world isn’t ancient, it is young. A deception. I am the deceiver. My purpose was to ensure none but you found the boy and the portal to Mímir’s tomb. You enchanted this world so all would walk along the lighted paths until they reached a portal that would return them to a random space within the nine realms. You enchanted this world with your memories, so only you could follow them. Hear them.” Sigrid handed you a four-pronged dagger, “Take this you’ll need it.” She kissed your cheek, then her form started unravelling with the world too. Through transference, she gave you her armour, it was lighter than you'd expected, and it fit to cover your proportions through magical effect.

“Why can’t you come with us?” you reached your hand out to Baldrick. He took it with ease.

“I am not meant for the lands of the living,” she lamented. “Go! Before the world takes you with it.”

You rushed to the portal, but before you could step through you asked one last question: “What did you mean by ‘sins of the father’?”

“The war,” Sigrid fluttered her wings to hover in the green mist. “It was a lie. The Jotuns, they didn’t start it. We—the Himmel Kvinner—there’s a reason why only the women in our family inherited the gift. It’s not just power. It’s essence. A woman’s essence. Odin didn’t know we would develop magic from the artefact, but none of us were able to understand the complexity of her spell. Until you. You will discover the reason behind it all. You told me you did. I suspect it is because you are not fully mortal." Bitterly, she added as her body turned to mist as well, "You will bring the heavens to its knees. And your fate is that none shall remember it.”

One of Sigrid’s wings dissipated, she faltered in the air, then shouted: “Go!”

“I love you,” you whispered before hurtling through the undulating expanse of the portal.

“I know…” you heard her whisper back as Verdenspeil was destroyed.

#loki #loki x reader #loki marvel #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson #tom hiddleston #himmeløyne #norse mythology #loki x you #loki x y/n #marvel imagine #loki imagine #tom hiddlestone imagine

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rabid-heart · 3 years

Text

Through the Threads of Space and Time (I’ll Always Love You)

Kicking off Sefikura Week!

For @sefikuraweek 2021. Day 1 - Prompt: Meeting In Another World

After living and dying countless times, Sephiroth and Cloud finally find paradise, with each other. But all good things must come to an end.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: Some implied sexual content and a description of a serious injury.

Read on Ao3 here.

---

It took them far too long to come together. They had danced in a battle across the threads of time and space, the clash of their blades louder than any words or feelings they might have wished to share. At the start, there was nothing more than bitter rage and anger – how could Cloud feel anything else toward the man who seemed destined to destroy every world he awakened in?

But then something changed. It might have been the hundredth meeting – might have been the thousandth, for after years and lifetimes, it was hard for Cloud to keep track – but this time, when his sword cut through Sephiroth’s body, the man did not look at him with shocked arrogance or disdain. Instead, those green eyes were glazed with tears of longing, of hope, of relief, of thanks.

When Cloud awoke the next time, he was haunted by those eyes and the ghosts of unspoken words that swirled behind them. Over the following lifetimes, over the repeated sight of those green eyes, Cloud had tried to push the dangerous thoughts away – the traitorous what ifs that kept him up at nights, that made him hold his sword with just a little bit more uncertainty. He had stubbornly convinced himself that there was no other path to follow. And why wouldn’t he? In all the lives he ever lived, there was only one constant: Sephiroth would destroy and Cloud would be his executioner.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe there was a part of him that thought to simply try something new. Or maybe the thought of seeing those eyes grateful for the death that Cloud had given them had vexed Cloud’s last nerve. Because at one point, finally, the warrior had had enough.

When he let go, stepped back and let that long silver blade pierce straight through him, Sephiroth’s green eyes were not thankful. They were not triumphant either. They were afraid. They said, pleaded, begged, please don’t leave me alone.

In the next life, that was all Cloud could think about.

In hindsight, the fact that it took them this long, this many cycles, this many lives, to get to this point was ridiculous. Cloud and Sephiroth were tied together, irrevocably, inescapably. It was a fact of the universe as was the force of gravity. No matter how far they were at the start, they would always collide. But this was a different type of collision – not of swords, but of lips and limbs and bodies and hearts and souls. It only took one night together for the realization to sink in: this was what they were meant to be. For there was no one else in the world that understood the dark crevices of Cloud’s mind and cherished him for it. And in turn, there was no one else in the world that Sephiroth knew would never truly leave him. It was perfect.

But the Planet itself seemed to disagree. It clawed its way between them, tried to tear them asunder, tried to set them back on the fated paths they were always meant to walk. It was too late, though. Cloud now knew what paradise felt like and it was waking up to silver hair and dazzling green eyes and warm arms. And if Sephiroth kept one thing from his repeated reincarnations, it was obsession. They would never stop fighting for each other, even if it would tear the strands of the world apart.

In the end, they had decided to run – find a corner of creation that would be theirs and theirs alone. And it is here that Cloud finds himself now, in a meadow of wildflowers and late summer breezes and clear blue skies. He feels like he once did as a young child, without worries or care, warm inside like nights by the fire with a mug of hot cocoa. He is walking as he does on some mornings, listless and barefoot, letting the flowers and tall grass graze through his fingertips. In the bed inside the house up the hill, Sephiroth is still sleeping.

Cloud rarely wakes before the man, but when he does, he walks. Because it is in the hazy morning light that Sephiroth looks the most human, asleep with his hair falling out of the tie that had come undone during the night. When Cloud sees that profile, feels the soft breath on his forehead, hears the steady heartbeat under his ears, it is just shy of overwhelming. The sight never fails to awaken something in Cloud: the mounting of a thousand promises, of heartfelt devotion, of the desire to remain there pressed into that man’s chest forever. Because in those mornings, he is reminded that he loves Sephiroth so much, that he can hardly breathe for it.

So, Cloud gets up and walks, for fear of drowning. He knows now that Sephiroth does not mind. He even understands, watchful eyes always assessing, always knowing, always wanting. He will stay in bed until Cloud is ready to come home, offer the fond and sleepy smile that he has now learned to give so freely, and allow the blond to climb onto his lap and show him just how much he loves him. It is a ritual now that feels even more exhilarating than the battles they used to perform (though every once in a while, they dig up their blades from storage and enjoy a dance or two, for old times’ sake).

Cloud thinks about that routine now and looks back at the house, anticipation and excitement and joy curling in his heart. He begins to make his way up the hill, when he notices dark shadows rumbling over the grassy fields, green cracks of lightning shooting through the sky. The edges of the world around them begin to dissolve, like sand in water, and as the air begins to thicken with smoke, so too does the fear grow in Cloud’s heart.

They’ve found us.

He runs, bare feet pounding hard against the dirt, still wet from the morning dew. Though it has been many years since he called upon it, the old speed still has not left Cloud, and it only takes seconds before he crosses the threshold into the cottage. He tracks dirt in as he makes his way to the bedroom, and belatedly thinks about how Sephiroth would chide him for the messes he makes.

“Sephiroth,” Cloud breathes, standing in the doorway in his mud-covered feet. The man in question had still been asleep when the blond had wandered in, though Sephiroth was now groggily starting to stir under the sheets. Cloud moves to the side of the bed, shaking him more urgently. “Get up, we have to run.”

“Run?” Sephiroth counters cautiously, still blinking away the sleep from his eyes. As a by-product of no longer spending the days fighting, the former General had begun indulging slow rises, among other comforts he had not enjoyed before this life. It is almost endearing, seeing him this way, vulnerable and confused and still unbelievably handsome all the same.

But Cloud does not have time for this, not if he wants to keep this life he’s built alive another moment. He takes the other man’s face in his hands, brings it close, their eyes locking, and says, “The Planet, it’s come for us, Seph.”

It takes a moment for the understanding to dawn. When it does, Sephiroth shoots off the bed. He moves toward the closet, pulls on a shirt and some pants, and states, “Get your things. I’ll get your swords.”

Cloud does as he is told. He shoves a bag full of some of clothes, and rushes to the front closet to grab their boots. By the time he returns to the bedroom, Sephiroth has retrieved First Tsurugi and its accompanying harness from the storage closet in the basement. Cloud does not bother with the harness, simply grasps the combined blade. “Can you get us out of here?” he says, pleadingly.

Sephiroth closes his eyes for a moment, trying to dust away the cobwebs of the old magic he used to wield so effortlessly. After he had created this space for him and Cloud, he hardly practiced the art anymore. Most of his god-like abilities, he had abandoned, and if his wing ever made an appearance, it was only in bed and at Cloud’s request. The reduction was a sacrifice he had been willing to make for a lifetime with his love. But neither of them had counted on this.

The man tries to conjure a portal to another world, but the threads of the spell slip from his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’ll need time.”

“We don’t have it,” Cloud says, slinging the bag over his shoulder and moving closer to the silver-haired man. “But maybe we can buy ourselves some.”

Sephiroth nods and wraps his arm around Cloud, holding the smaller man as to him as tightly as possible. He conjures his wing and a moment later the two of them are in the sky, soaring far away from the cottage they had lived in for nearly countless years now. As they fly, Cloud watches as the dark shadows and green tendrils begin consuming the entirety of the peaceful meadow, swallowing their home whole.

Cloud tries not to let the feelings overwhelm him now, but they are there, building armies in his mind. Despair, for one, which is ironic and terrible and cruel in itself. But there are others, like fear and anxiety and desperation, too. He had thought that they successfully escaped from it, the cycle of repeated lives and lies and deaths, the dreadful fortune the wheel of fate continued to turn and turn for them. He had thought that they had defied destiny itself. But despite all their strength and power, they had failed. And now, they could lose everything. That alone was enough to break the dam of his tears, and Cloud finds himself crying soundlessly.

Destiny, it turned out, was a stubborn mistress.

“Cloud,” Sephiroth whispers, pausing for a moment mid-air. He notes the dampness of the shoulder of his shirt. “You’re crying.”

“I’m fine, keep moving,” Cloud whispers, curling into his lover tightly.

Sephiroth opens his mouth to say something, but lightning strikes suddenly through the sky, and the next thing Cloud knows, they are falling. He sees Sephiroth’s eyes, wide with a fear that the man rarely shows, and Cloud knows own his eyes mirror the same expression. The inevitability begins to sink in as gravity takes over. And still, Sephiroth grasps him tightly, shifting their positions to brace their fall, and before Cloud can protest, they land in the dirt, hard and with a sickening crack.

For a moment, there is silence, and Cloud wonders if he had briefly passed out, if this is all just a terrible nightmare, if he will just wake up and be in that bed that he had made with his own two hands, in the arms of the man that he loves more than the world itself. But unfortunately, when the blond opens his eyes, only the latter is true. Sephiroth is still holding him, but his breathing is ragged, as if he is trying to stifle the pain that keeps rising out of his throat. Quickly, Cloud rolls off of Sephiroth and surveys the damage. The man’s wing had torn into shreds from the lighting strike, the bones of it broken and jutting through the feathers from the stun of the fall. He looks at Cloud now with watery eyes that still hold such fondness, such resilience, such power, such grace.

Like a fallen angel.

“Are you alright?” Sephiroth breathes, reaching out to Cloud.

Cloud just sobs in response, moving to cradle Sephiroth’s head in his lap. “Oh, Seph, I’m so sorry, I—”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped.”

But he did, because Cloud was crying and Sephiroth, for all his logic and strategy and intelligence, loves him far too much to not try and comfort him. It is so bittersweet that Cloud apologizes again anyway, pressing kisses to that perfect face. He can taste the hint of salt on his lips, but whether it is from his own tears, or Sephiroth’s, he does not know.

“Is it bad?” Sephiroth asks, half-jokingly.

Cloud hates it, hates that the man has tried to develop a sense of humor to entertain him over the years, hates that he is using it now. But he leans forward and presses his forehead against Sephiroth’s and says, “No, it’s fine.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes, because he knows Cloud and knows well enough when he is lying. “Then you have to go.”

“No.”

“You are running out of time.”

“I am not leaving you.”

“You have to.”

Cloud shakes his head furiously. “No. No. I’m never leaving you. I’m never leaving you, ever. I’m yours and you are mine and we are never going to be apart, ever again.”

“If only that were true, my love,” Sephiroth murmurs back, and reaches a hand up to tangle in those blond spikes.

“I’ll make it true,” Cloud says. “With everything I have.”

But as the words leave his lips, they both can feel it, the dark shadows approaching. They had ages here, in this world they created, days and months and years folding into each other. And somehow now, with only minutes left until the end, Cloud feels that all that time is not enough. He wants more. He wants forever, an eternity. He wants Sephiroth, the only thing that had filled the empty chasm in his soul, the only thing that makes him feel real and whole.

Sephiroth looks at him, and Cloud swears he can see the man’s heart breaking. “You must go, Cloud.”

“No.”

“They’ll take you. They’ll take you and take me and in the next life, they won’t let us be together, not again.”

“Then I’ll make them,” Cloud fires back, and in his eyes are anguish and fear but also devotion and steel, all the things that make Cloud so utterly irresistible and utterly unbreakable. Sephiroth wants to believe him, wants to believe in that strength that had challenged and defeated him again and again, wants to believe that it may be enough. He looks at that sunflower hair, that freckled face, those dazzling eyes, and thinks that there cannot be anything more beautiful to believe in than this. For if there is something more stubborn than destiny, then it had to be Cloud Strife.

And Sephiroth himself never went down without a fight.

“Then I will find you. In the next life, I promise, I’ll find you,” he says.

Cloud responds, “And I promise, I’ll save you.”

Sephiroth seals the vow of meeting again in another world by pressing his lips against Cloud’s, fierce and full of all the longing in a heart that he had thought lost all capability to love long ago, in a heart that he knew belonged to this man, forever. Then, the darkness descends upon them, tumbling through their bodies and ripping their souls apart and away, leaving nothing behind at the edge of creation, except the ghosts of that kiss and the last words they whispered to each other.

I’ll always love you.

#sefikuraweek #sefikura week day 1 #prompt - meeting in another world #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii remake #sefikura #sephiroth #cloud strife #sephiroth x cloud #sfw

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a-dorin · 4 years

Text

defiance | darth maul

word count: 1,316

warnings: angst, lots of angst, fluff

a/n: hellloooo! this was a request from my dear friend, @witchy-goth-unicorn ! i know that the concept of a force dyad is quite controversial in the star wars universe/fandom, so please do not send me any hate for this! i hope you all enjoy!

“HOW MAUL WOULD REACT TO DARTH SIDIOUS FINDING OUT ABOUT THE READER (who is obviously his S/O) AND TRYING TO CONVINCE MAUL THAT SHE'S ONLY A DISTRACTION TO HIM AND TRYING TO GET HIM TO LEAVE HER WITHOUT OUTRIGHT KILLING HER AND LOSING HIS TRUST ENTIRELY?”

"my lord," a zabrak bowed before his master, donned in a black cloak, his horns gleaming in the low light.

"my apprentice," a man, disguised by his black cloak, clasped his hands together, his image static on the holoprojector, "what a lovely surprise. how are your duties coming along?"

"i have a location on the jedi," the zabrak's response was curt, "our interception will come with time."

"i feel as if we are not on the same page, my apprentice," the man croaked, venom seeping into his tone.

"what are you talking about, master?" the zabrak eyes narrowed, glowing amber, "darth sidious, i have been nothing but loyal to you and the order of the sith. I-"

"it seems as if you have found someone," darth sidious' aura shifted, "a woman? yes? darth maul, this is a matter that has never been discussed with me. why is that?”

darth maul swallowed thickly, “i-i am not sure.”

“you know we cannot rule together when there is another party entering the picture,” sidious remarked, “it deters you away from our end goal.”

“she’s more than that,” maul mumbled, his eyes avoiding his master’s gaze.

darth sidious could sense the zabrak’s emotions, “you love her, don’t you?”

maul swallowed thickly, his eyes set on the panel of the scimitar. he had no reason to lie. darth sidious would recognize the dishonesty within seconds. his lower lip trembled, “i-i do love her, master.”

“ahhh,” darth sidious’ chuckle was sinister, “my feeble apprentice has fallen victim to his emotions. i have a suggestion on how to rid yourself of the leech.”

“she’s not a leech,” maul’s voice was dangerously low, “(y/n) isn’t going anywhere, master.”

“what a shame,” sidious tsked, “i had higher hopes for you.”

“i’m still loyal to you,” maul rose to his feet, his hands clenched, “what more do you want? i have offered you my loyalty time and time again, master. i love (y/n). she is not a distraction to our plans.”

maul’s rage swirled within him, a raging torrent flowing through his being. he faced his master, his amber eyes ablaze with fury, “you taught me to stand up for what i believe in, sidious. (y/n) is my soul mate. the two of us, we have may possess a dyad within the force.”

“a dyad?” sidious’ laugh was cold, filled to the brim with disbelief, “my apprentice, do you hear yourself? a force dyad has not been seen for generations. it is just a phenomena. a fable for children at night.”

“you will not shake my beliefs,” maul snarled, his tone defiant, “we possess a dyad.i can feel her. she’s sound asleep, dreaming. she’s content, her heartbeat stead-”

“i have a preposition for you,” sidious attempted to maintain his composure, “in order to maintain the balance of sith rulers, we have to upkeep the tradition of two. when there is someone who is force sensitive, such as your leech, the balance is deterred. who knows, maul, (y/n) may just be a cover. she may be using you, in order to retrieve information for the jedi. she may not truly ‘love’ you as you claim she does. i suggest that you rid yourself of that leech. end things. before your emotions for the girl grow.”

“you’ve clearly never loved anyone in your life,” maul retorted, his hand hovering over the hilt of his saber, “i have always obeyed you, my lord. i have given you nothing but the promise of my loyalty to the sith.”

“if you’re loyal,” sidious’ tone was sinister, “you will dispose of her.”

the holoprojector ended, darth sidious disappearing before maul’s eyes. the zabrak snarled, shaking his head. he paced for several minutes, his mind racing, buzzing with thoughts of despair and anxiety. his master was wrong.

maul’s thoughts were filled with memories of you, his vision becoming blurred as he paced. tears splattered the cool metal floor of the ship, glittering in the light. no matter how loyal the zabrak was to the sith, he could never just dispose of you.

“maul?” a soft murmur interrupted his thoughts, his heart skipping a beat.

you stood before him, a tunic draped over your body. it was maul’s, his scent floating into his nostrils. the zabrak crumpled to his knees, sobs racking his body. you swallowed, feeling the despair and pain seeping into you, leaving your veins ice cold.

sitting beside him, you wrapped your arms around the sith lord, gently rubbing his back as his cries filled the cockpit, reverberating off the walls, “maul, it’s okay. i’m right here.”

“i can’t lose you,” maul whimpered, “i can’t lose the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

“maul,” your hands grasped his face, “what happened?”

“i can’t tell you,” maul shook his head, “he’d know. he would find out.”

as you rubbed maul’s back, a vision flashed before your eyes. it was maul, only minutes ago, facing his master, darth sidious. maul’s aura was furious, anger radiating off of him in thick, intense waves. sidious stood before him, lies tumbling from his filthy, sinister, mouth. the vision dissolved. you didn’t have to pry any farther. you knew.

“he found out,” you mumbled, “and he’s trying to get you to get rid of me.”

“i can’t,” maul’s eyes met yours, nothing but love and adoration in his gaze, “i can’t. i can’t do it. i couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. sidious, he tried to lure me in. his attempts to bait me into believing that you were a fallacy failed. (y/n), i have never failed in my apprenticeship. but if disobeying direct orders from my master means that i get to keep loving you, i would fail. i would fail time and time again. as long as i got to keep you by my side.”

“oh my love,” you placed tender kisses all over the zabrak’s face, “i love you more than anything.”

“i cannot abandon the other half of my soul,” maul murmured, running a hand through your hair.

your heart swelled, a warm, cozy feeling creeping into your chest. lips curving into a smile, “i will never leave you, my love.”

a shy, soft grin formed on the zabrak’s lips, his expression shifting from hopelessness to euphoria, “i disobeyed my master. that’s the first time i have ever done that.”

“i’m so proud of you,” you giggled, leaning in.

your nose brushed against maul’s, your sweet scent flooding his nostrils. he softened, admiring the way your affection for him danced in the depths of your eyes. he adored the curve of your soft lips, and how your lashes framed your beautiful eyes. your cheeks glowed, a soft, rosy pink. not only did you possess physical beauty, but your soul, your soul was a rich, self-less soul. you would give the zabrak the abundance of your affection, not asking for anything in return. that was the aspect maul admired the most.

“i love you,” he whispered, his voice warm.

you beamed, “i love you too, maul.”

maul’s lips collided into yours, the kiss gentle and sweet. you looped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. the kisses shifted from tenderness to hunger, maul licking your lower lip. you gave him access, whining as he sucked on you bottom lip. before you knew it, your back was on the floor, the cool metal seeping into your warm skin.

outside the viewports of the ship, the stars shone, glittering among the sea of navy. even with the disapproval of darth sidious, no one would be able to end the relationship you had with the zabrak. your souls were intertwined, the love shared between you never seen before. although darth sidious was doubtful, it was quite clear what the bond was.

a dyad was beginning, only growing stronger by the day.

a beautiful, wonderful, powerful dyad.

#darth maul #darth maul x reader #star wars x reader #darth maul fluff #maul x reader #maul fluff #darth maul smut

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

Text

The Bad Guy, pt. 3 - Haunted (Gang AU)

Summary: Grayson’s attempt to pull out of his gang related business seems futile as his past comes back to haunt him. Deciding to keep it a secret only brings more issues as it creates a distance between him and Y/N he can’t bridge.

Warnings: angst, fluff, SMUT, injuries, blood, death, swearing...

Word count: 18.5k

The Bad Guy - Series Masterlist

Frowning, my eyes struggle to adjust to the light basking my skin, squinting to try and get a better view of the perpetrator although I know it's him.

If anything was certain about Grayson Dolan it was his love for sunrise and while I'm far from a morning person, waking up to watch his mesmerized gaze has become the epitome of a full life.

Quietly, afraid to startle him and ruin my favorite view, I stand up too, fighting the lightheaded feeling swaying me from side to side, nearly blinding me for a moment or two.

And I stand there, silently watching this beautiful, handsome specimen I still can't believe is mine. I watch him with fervor, with a fire unequaled to any volcano. And I admire him - every muscle, every scar, every mark life had left on his body.

He could have any woman he lays his eye on and yet he chose me? Sometimes I think it's a dream, a cosmic joke to give me everything I ever wanted before ripping it away once reality sets in, but it's not. He's here and he is mine and even after countless, nearly lethal obstacles, I can't fathom regretting being a part of his world.

Meeting Grayson Dolan has been the highlight of my life and I count my lucky stars every day as I thank the universe for giving me a chance to not only love a man as magnificent as him, but also be loved by him.

To be loved by Grayson Dolan is a powerful thing, a force of nature that is all consuming. It's a blessing and he might not agree with me on this, but if I had a chance to do it all again? I'd choose him over and over until I am nothing but ash and dust.

Perhaps we aren't the luckiest lovers in the world, but we're far from Romeo and Juliet. They had tragedy sown in their souls, but we have the space to make our own destiny and I am determined to make it a happy one.

Stalking toward him on my tiptoes, I smile when I'm almost behind him, my arms instinctively reaching for his waist and I sense his gentle gasp as my hands glide under his arms and over his stomach. I lay my head to rest between his shoulder blades, listening to the soft breathing reminding me how lucky I am to be alive - how lucky I am he's alive.

His arms reach back and his hands rest awkwardly on my back, and I know he's smiling. He's appreciating the beauty before him as much as the tenderness of my love for him.

If Grayson knows one thing for sure it's how my love for him will always trump my love for sleep and I'm not sure he will ever truly get used to that.

We remain silent, enjoying each other's company and sweetness of another morning we get to spend together, all until the alarm clock screeches and we both jump at the loudness.

Turning around, his hands move to my hips and while I've always felt insecure about the fat he'd actually rest his hands on instead of my bones, Grayson simply gave me a reassuring squeeze, almost as if he could tell I'm once again struggling with my appearance and the latest weight gain I couldn't explain certainly didn't help my body dysmorphia.

"All my favorite days started and ended with you." His raspy voice brings chills, awakens my heart and I've always said he's better than caffeine in the morning.

"Cheesy." I remark, almost teasing him with a raised eyebrow and a swift, playful wink. "You're lucky I'm into cheesy romance."

Rolling his eyes at me with the slightest inkling of a smirk upon his plump lips, Grayson is quick to pull me closer, making me squeal and not in the attractive ways girls do it in movies, rather a pig like way.

Our noses collide before our lips firmly press together, finding our normal rhythm easily. Hands roaming his chest, fingers playing with his chest hair, I can feel my mind turn numb to our surroundings, the rest fading away. Grayson always had that effect, making me forget about the world and he didn't have to try, even one look was enough.

"Y/N." He whispers my name in between kisses spelled with our lips, my teeth sinking into his bottom lip, nibbling on the soft skin until an exasperated groan leaves him and I know his morning wood has begun to bug him and our kisses certainly didn't make it any easier on him.

"I can help with that." Coy, I inch away, breathing heavily. He's smilingly shaking his head and I can't help the disappointment on my face for I know what he's going to say.

"I want to, TRUST ME, but I have an early meeting." Apologetic as ever, Grayson steps back as if distance would somehow stop some sort of an imaginary spell I've cast on him. But this has become a rather common occurrence. It's why I wake up so early, hoping to steal a few peaceful moments in his arms before he leaves for work and more often than not, he's not back until late.

I'm not better with my intern year exhausting me all the time either, but I miss him ALL THE TIME and he seems to lack the same emotion. Sometimes I wonder if he misses me too or if his job, as legal as it’s supposed to be, is still his number one priority. He changed his tune on the matter, but his actions are faltering that belief in my heart.

I want to believe in him – in us, but love is a flower that needs to be watered and lately, there’s been a draught. And we are still intimate…a lot, but we lack the kind of quality time we spent together back when we had the world against us.

Sometimes, as selfish as it may be, I wonder if having my life threatened is the only way to have his undivided attention.

"Sure. I should get ready too." Biting my lip, I thread my fingers through my hair and sigh, avoiding his eyes to hide my dejection. It's not easy realizing we're officially becoming like any other couple where we don't seem to prioritize each other and if I'm being honest, it's killing me.

Grayson is the one to break the silence first. "Doll, have you seen my shirt?"

"Pretty sure I ripped it off you last night. Might want to grab that hoodie instead, because I'd rather not have you flaunting those flawless abs in public." I smirk, stopping once my eyes catch the horror in his.

"You. Want. Me. To. Wear. A. Hoodie? I can't be seen in a hoodie!" Grayson's words only make me chuckle, reminding me that behind his bad boy facade truly is a drama queen with a notable fashion sense. It makes me feel normal, and maybe being normal isn't always a bad thing. Maybe I’m just addicted to thrill of danger we were stuck in for so long I’ve forgotten that we’ve finally found serenity – a reality that should be more comfortable for me.

"Yes?" It was more of a question than a statement, paired with an amused look in my eyes and once my teeth sunk in the left corner of my bottom lip, Grayson's heart skipped a beat.

"The only reason I own a hoodie is because I bought it so you, my girlfriend, could steal it and we'd have some sense of normalcy as a couple. You know? No bloodshed, no tortured souls or kidnapping, just the old run of the mill girlfriend stealing her boyfriend's hoodie." Grayson justified, only making me giggle.

"And it worked, so now you can do what every boyfriend does and steal it back while giving me a glare for stealing it in the first place only to kiss me and tell me I look better in it than you anyway." I retort, enjoying his casually entertaining sauntering toward me, both his eyebrows raised.

"Well, it isn't even mine anymore, it's ours." He rolls his eyes with a cheeky smile, making my heart melt. This is how it’s supposed to be when two people love each other - easy as breathing. This, right now, just him and I and no obligations tearing us apart – this is how it should be.

Grabbing the hoodie, he shakes it before me, granting me a teasing glare. "I'm not gonna wear it but stealing isn't nice. Even if it does look better on you." Reenacting my little speech, Grayson pecks my lips before continuing his morning ritual and I draw a deep breath, shuddering at the thought of losing him.

I didn't come home that night, forced to pull a double shift at the hospital yet my phone didn't ring. Most nights, Grayson would call and check up on me even though I know it’s mostly to hear my voice – he explained it was soothing, a comfort he never takes for granted.

Sighing, I lock the screen and chase a few peas across the plastic plate, wondering what Grayson is doing, if he is hungry or tired, if he's wishing he could be next to me as much as I am. I’ve almost never been to his company, my hours at the hospital too long and Grayson always volunteers to come for lunch a few days a week anyway. He hadn’t been around for two weeks now.

Perhaps I've become codependent, maybe he coddles me way too much, but something is different and I'm hoping it's about our jobs and not about his feelings shifting, a familiar fear creeping in - he wasn't the type to stay with one girl for long, so what if my time is up?

Could I ever say goodbye to Grayson?

Shaking my head, I remind myself how important communication is and how I fucked up the last time I allowed out relationship go down a rabbit hole - maybe there's an explanation for this too?

Chewing on the inside of my lower lip, I roll my eyes and set aside my pride like he has done for me so many times before. Dialing his number is easy, but the wait for him to pick up is what makes my eyes water.

Grayson always picks up before the third ring, I'm on the eighth now.

And when he does pick up, I realize it's not him.

"Sorry hon, he's busy with me."

Eyes wide, breath caught in my throat, I try to speak but the line is dead before I muster enough bravery to move my lips.

Slapping a hand over my mouth trying to hold back a sob, I realize how unnecessary that action is as my throat closes with emotions shaking my entire being.

There has to be some explanation for this. I should have some faith in him after everything we've been through, right?

Fear, hate, anger, anxiety, love, sadness, an insurmountable amount of emotions and thoughts overwhelm me, dragging me through the past and every time I was told I simply wasn’t enough – pretty enough, smart enough, ambitious enough, creative enough, sexy enough – all of the times I was reminded over and over again that no one would love me, especially not someone as grand as Grayson who can certainly replace me in a moment’s time and I’d be left on the outside looking in, seeing his many girls on the front pages of every tabloid which would slowly kill me.

I want to wash my brain in cold water, cool the whole thing but I can't. I want a coffee but the caffeine will put me over the edge.

Regardless, I find myself dialing Ethan's number, seeking advice. If anyone would be honest with me, Ethan Grant surely would even if Grayson is his brother.

Does the truth imprison us, or does it set us free?

One thing I know for sure, the truth can hurt. Especially when the truth bears what can break a heart in half.

But I have to know.

3rd person POV

"Who was that?" Grayson frowns as he sees his assistant put down his phone, wondering why would she answer his personal cellphone when it isn't in her job description.

"Wrong number." Smirking slyly, she revels in the world of pain she was certain she caused to the woman on the other side of the line, enjoying it as much as she's enjoying the way Grayson pulled his sleeves up, accentuating his biceps.

Licking her lips, she watches as he sits in his chair, exhaustion in every line of his face and she can't imagine a better moment to make a move she had been planning for a few months now. Sliding over to him, she wasted no time in moving her ass onto his lap, her lips hungrily covering his.

"Bro!" Ethan busts inside, worked up after hearing from a clearly upset Y/N, willing to reassure her it's only a misunderstanding but when he sees a woman in his brother's lap and her mouth on his, one of the women he remembers from Grayson's past? That's when Ethan loses it.

Grayson is quick to push her off and on the floor mercilessly, growling as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, but Ethan has no patience, slamming the door behind him with enough strength that it breaks the tinted glass, shattering it all the way to the woman's floored ass.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Ethan screamed, not even flinching when he feels a piece of glass graze his left forearm, the cut superficial. He’s red in the face, his eyes narrowed and if looks could kill, Grayson and the pathetic excuse for a woman would need CPR.

Gripping the woman by her shoulders, Grayson sets her back on her feet, the pressure of his hands on her enough to leave a mark. Shaking her like a doll, he gets in her face, spraying spit as he makes his intentions clear.

"I am a taken man and if you ever, EVER, try that again, I will have no mercy. Understand that?" Shaking her again until she managed to mumble a clear YES, Grayson pushed her toward the door.

"What the fuck are you looking at?!" Grayson screams in outrage, his eyes set aflame with ruthless self-loathing shimmering under the surface. His rage had always made men cower in fear, but never Ethan.

He wasn’t calm either, willing to spill blood for every tear Y/N shed and while he could easily start an altercation, Ethan realized violence begins violence and he can’t turn on his own blood. Not while they’re still so vulnerable to the criminals that want them both dead.

Apparently, no one is happy to let a gang disband without bloodshed and they’ve both been working overtime to make sure that doesn’t turn into a new gang war where their loved ones would be at risk. To be honest, Grayson has been overbearing and Ethan was wearing thin, but they have to find a solution before they end up burying their mother or sister, Y/N or even each other.

"Y/N called me in tears asking if you're cheating on her and I promised you'd never do that. Was I wrong brother?" Asking calmly, Ethan surprised himself with his poise. If he could, he'd at the very least land a few punches, damage the pretty boy look Grayson attracts attention with, but he realized Y/N might not want that.

Even if he transgressed, she’d want Grayson unharmed. She’s that kind of a soul – innocent, naïve and untouched by the madness surrounding her. And she hasn’t been quite the same since the ball but Ethan noticed her getting back to who she was when they first met her at that shady club.

She is his sister now and he can’t stand the thought of what pain this might cause her.

"No. She kissed me and I ended it as soon as I could. Y/N doesn't have to know." Grayson decides, his head a chaotic explosion of fear, anger and frustration - fear of losing the only woman he ever loved, anger over the way he was completely unaware of the situation and frustration because he's clearly not as scary as he used to be and damn it, Grayson absolutely loved instilling fear in people around him. It made him feel powerful and invincible, something he gave up for a quiet future with the love of his life...something he still missed.

"I won't lie to her." Ethan says through gritted teeth, shaking his head as his fingers thread through his hair. "She deserves better Grayson." Sighing, Ethan swallows thickly. "Do better."

And while Ethan said he wouldn't lie, he called Y/N back, faking amusement.

"No worries, sis, his assistant picked up the phone and they've been working like crazy today." Pausing, he pinches the bridge of his nose as if that would wash away the shame of lies he speaks, but what good would it do to hurt her with the truth?

He is a reasonable man and bringing this up would break her heart, besides, Grayson said it's a one-time unwanted occurrence and he wanted to believe him. He needed to.

"Are you alright, babe?" He feels a familiar pair of arms slide down his chest, holding onto the hands firmly.

"Yeah. Just my brother. Same old shit." Studying her, Ethan can't help but smile at the woman Y/N hired for him just a few months ago - at first to help him after he got shot and now to help him around the office...a woman he had taken a liking to.

"Anything I can do to help?" She smirks, pecking his nose from above, implying exactly what she wanted and Ethan wasn't about to protest.

"I can think of a few things."

1st person POV

The weight finally off my chest, I smile to myself. Of course Grayson isn't cheating on me. He loves me. He does no matter how hard I found that hard to believe before.

Perhaps it's time I trust him on that.

Barely able to stand, only a few hours of sleep in a thirty-something long shift keeping me alive, I stumble into the penthouse, kicking off my sneakers immediately.

I've been tired lately, feeling queasy and faint but it's probably the long hours and worsening eating habits. I should definitely drink more water too, but admitting this to Grayson would end up with him asking me to take some time off and take care of my health but that’s not an option. I need to finish this internship so I can get a first-rate fellowship. I may be stuck in a crazy environment, but I have every intention on finishing my journey.

Groaning, I manage to find my way to our bedroom and I wonder why was I ever so stubborn about living together. I didn't want to be seen as gold digger or an opportunist, I wanted to earn my own money but after we got cornered with paparazzi in my dorm more than once, the choice was obvious. Thankfully, I graduated just in time to start an internship not too far away from his luxury penthouse, reducing the commute.

Besides, waking up next to him is better than being alone.

The moment I enter, I see something is different - a dress laid out on our bed, rose petals around as well as a bouquet on my nightstand.

Reaching for the note, I sigh, aware Grayson planned a romantic date and while I'd rather sleep and have him rub my back, I remember relationships last only if both parties contribute to its growth and for a few months, neither of us did our part.

I can't be the one to say no.

'An exquisite dress for an exquisite woman. Put this on, doll and meet me up on the roof'

Smiling, I shake my head lightly, feeling my heart skip in my chest because even if I am about to faint, the gesture is incredibly sweet. The dress is even better - the one I had my eye on but refused to even try - red as blood, back open and lacy sleeves down to my elbows.

Managing to push my swollen feet into heels a size too big for me even now, I force my legs to take the few stairs toward the roof, a smile upon my weary lips. The wind pushes my unkempt hair back, revealing a faint scratch just below my ear that I earned in the ER.

"You look magnificent. As expected." Grayson's compliment makes me look away, smiling at the ground. It's impossible not to blush when a man of his caliber tells you how amazing he believes you look.

Pecking my lips, Grayson's finger lifts my chin, gracing me with one of his disarmingly charming looks.

"Don't go all shy on me now." His smirk is devilishly handsome and now I understood how the devil cheats humans out of their souls. It's not hard to fall for a smile like that.

"I missed you." Smiling back at him, I allow him to lead me to the table he set for us, devouring the food with my eyes already.

"And I love you for this food. I'm starving!"

3rd person POV

As soon as dinner ended and the conversation became rather nostalgic, Y/N couldn't help her smile as Grayson dedicated himself to her. It’s exactly what she’d been craving, worried that their romance might be wavering after the time they had to each other.

Holding her hand, his fingers brushing her knuckles, Grayson leans his forehead on the back of it, drawing a deep breath before letting out a heavy sigh.

"You're scaring me." Y/N giggles nervously, her right leg bouncing on her knee, making it a little uncomfortable since her heel keeps slipping off thus reminding her she really needs to buy a new pair - one that actually fits and on a day Grayson is too busy to come along. Shopping is a nightmare when the big bad CEO ex mafia boss that is also known as Hellhound joins because she refuses to let him pay for it all but he always insists.

"Do you know how it feels to love you?" Grayson asks, a rhetorical question from what she can tell and he's quick to continue, confessing all that's in his heart.

"It's a consuming, fiery passion." Smiling, he tilts his head ever so slightly to his left shoulder.

"It's a need, a primal drive to protect you, make you laugh and... well, I'm not going to sugarcoat this doll, but an essential desire to give you pleasure." Raising an eyebrow, Grayson licks his lower lip, leaving it shining under the candlelight, rendering Y/N speechless.

She's already trembling, confused with his current emotional gushing. It's not like she's unused to his love proclamations, it's that she can feel it in her bones that this one means something more than all the ones before and after the recent scare and fill of self-doubting, Y/N wasn’t keen on more surprises.

"Gray", she starts softly, worried it would discourage him or somehow hurt his feelings.

As soon as she tries to interrupt, Grayson interjects again, determined to finish his speech.

So, when he stands up and smirks at her widened eyes, Y/N only grew more confused and a little frightened when he suddenly dropped on one knee, opening a tiny box with a stunning, flower themed sapphire ring.

"You've given me hope, something to fight for, a reason to live. You've made me happier than I believed is possible and you've reminded me of what it means to be human. You make me want to be a better man." Swallowing thickly, he noticed she's barely blinking, perhaps in shock with his unexpected proposal, but he couldn't ignore how he feels and what he wants.

And he wants her.

He wanted Y/N to look at him with love in her eyes from the moment he first saw her in that tacky bar, he simply couldn't wait any longer. "You...you're everything - fun, thought provoking, caring, independent and merciful and exceptionally tactful when need be. You're spring and you're summer and you're a woman any man would be lucky to call his."

Lips parting, Y/N tries to speak, to articulate anything that she knows she feels in her heart for this incredible man, but she can't. All she can think of is the why. Why is he, a man who said dating wasn't even his thing, a man who struggled to open up for the longest time is now proposing?

She couldn't help but feel it's to appease her, but that only made her sad. She didn't want him to appease her nor did she want to succumb to society norms. She loves him, he loves her, so why complicate things?

Besides, how can she ignore the unwavering doubt in her mind? Ethan swore it was a false alarm, but her heart told her something is wrong – a sudden romantic gesture of this magnitude is suspicious, isn’t it?

"Will you marry me?" The hopeful look in his eye dwindles almost immediately when she reaches out and closes the box.

"No." Standing up, she throws the rags onto the table, her arms fold over her chest.

"We don't need to get married to love each other and be together, okay?" She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together he felt a little humiliated, but she couldn't allow him to entirely change his view on life and love to make her happy and she was certain he wouldn't ask otherwise.

In fact, she was certain he’s using this proposal to hide something she’s not supposed to know and an affair was currently on her mind. She couldn’t accuse him; she didn’t want to. But she needed to make sure the motive behind his proposal is love, not guilt.

"But I want to." Grayson stood, willing to argue on this but he could tell she's not ready and while he didn't understand why, he realized he will have to wait a little while longer.

Maybe she is right, maybe this is just his guilty self-consciousness pushing him into proposing and officially claiming her as his...most of all, allowing her to claim him as hers.

"I really do. But if you're not ready I will wait. As long as it takes." Noticing his flushed cheeks and desperation laced in his voice, Y/N caved…a little.

“Can I think about it?” And while it wasn’t even close to the definite YES he expected, Grayson had to settle for a maybe, regardless of the way it tore his heart to bits. Yet he felt this is much better than the reaction he’d get if he came clean.

Being with her is all he can ask for and he wasn’t ready to give up on her, on them. And maybe he should have told her the truth about everything, she’d probably be understanding, but he couldn’t be sure. He had put her through so much shit that Grayson feared she had too much and would use the latest troubles as an excuse to finally do what he fears the most – walk away from him.

They laid in each other's arms, holding on with a sense of uncertainty - Y/N felt guilty for making him believe she needed him to change, about the sordid lack of faith she has in him and Grayson felt guilty about the kiss he kept from her.

When he opened his eyes the next morning, Y/N was already gone, just a note left about being paged early even though she was supposed to have a day off. He planned to use that day to spend some time together and rebuild their relationship he just realized isn't as unbreakable as he thought before.

1st person POV

Days passed and Grayson never mentioned the proposal again. In a way I was grateful because dealing with a stomach flu and that night wasn't easy. Though he stayed quiet, I knew he was going back to old habits - using sex to change my mind.

It wasn’t difficult to understand Grayson is angry with me and my decision or lack there of. His usually sweet caress had become hard, gripping. Fists in clothes, shoving me against a wall hungrily, as if he’s trying to make me see that without me he’d be nothing more than this – a rampant animal out for blood even when he loves the one he hurts.

Unfortunately for him, I’m not a dainty little snowflake. He made sure of that. I can do both soft and angry and even if he tries, he’s never that violent with me even when I ask.

And as his fingers dig into my hips, I find myself thrown on the bed, enjoying the look in his eye as he takes me in – lips plump, almost bruised, cheeks crimson and desire behind my lustful gaze – something I practiced in front of a mirror but never knew if it works until he laid on top of me, keeping his body weight off just barely – he wanted me to feel dominated, trapped even, but his kisses, as always, melt away from that fiery, blinding passionate rage.

They turn into brushes of lips between shaking breaths, his hips meeting mine in a slow rhythm, allowing every inch of him to fill me to the brim and he wanted me to feel that. His lips are slow until they’re out of energy and parted, until we are left just lying there, holding each other, fingers carding through hair.

Blowing a few of my hairs off my neck, Grayson settled in the crook with a plagued look in his chestnut colored eyes. I could sense something is tormenting him, a secret he keeps and I’m not exactly talkative either. I’ve never asked him about the girl that picked up the phone…I’ve rarely been to his office at all.

“How are things at work?” Sliding my hand over his forearm, I can sense the sharp intake of breath through his nose and while it would be far too easy to just ignore it, the fact I could surely pinpoint his lack of verbal communication created an unsettling feeling in my stomach.

Pecking my shoulder, Grayson spoke – his voice oddly cool as if nothing happened moments ago and I am once again reminded Grayson isn’t just any guy I met off the street – he used to deal with people much scarier than his curious girlfriend.

“A lot of work but it’s been wonderful. The transition is going smooth and while there are a few minor issues to deal with, the company is officially legitimized and honest.” Lying is easy for him and that scares me. Maybe he’s not lying to my face, rather omitting the truth but isn’t that just as bad?

Waves of nausea force me to sit up, feeling my mouth salivating as bile rises at the back of my throat and I’m running before I even know what is happening, running to keep myself from ruining the ridiculously expensive rug Grayson splurged on a few months ago.

Sinking to my knees, retching until only clear liquid was coming up. My stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything up and out but the hand on my back and forehead keeping me from falling face first into the toilet kept me earthed. I could only imagine how my face looks, white and dripping bile, sweat, and tears.

“Can you leave? I don’t want you to see me like this.” My voice is hoarse and the pungent stench invaded my nostrils and I heave even though there is nothing left to throw up. My throat feels sore from the stomach acid that was layering it and my mouth tastes of vomit.

As if he could read my mind, Grayson quickly flushed the toilet and helped me lean back against the wall, rushing to fill a glass of water to help me rinse this horrid feeling out of my mouth.

I can’t remember the last time I got sick like this and I certainly can’t remember someone being there to help me and while I wanted him to leave initially, I was so grateful he decided to stay.

“You scared the crap out of me.” Sheepishly admitting to it, Grayson presses his lips together, looking ahead than at me. “You’re seeing a doctor first thing in the morning.” He adds and I scoff, giving him a quick glance.

“I am a doctor. Sort of.” Chuckling, I lean my head on his shoulder, hoping I’m not smelling like a combination of sweat and vomit, but hey, we both need a bath after what we’ve done an hour ago. Besides, making him worry won’t do him much good. There are more pressing matters he needs to dedicate himself to.

“Still. Doll, I never want to risk your health or wellbeing. Okay?”

“I’m aware which is why I know I’m fine and this was just a fluke.” I lied. This is more than just a fluke and the nausea has been going on for a month now, I just never actually had to throw up. And I understand why. My period’s late, long enough to make me fairly certain of what I plan on confirming in the morning – I’m pregnant.

I never understood how women miss their pregnancy for so long, how they don’t notice not having their periods or any other pregnancy symptoms but after everything – thinking we might die, Ethan being shot, starting this internship and then the worry about how solid our relationship is, I just assumed it was late due to stress.

I don’t think that’s the case anymore and I know I have to be more responsible now when I suspect it.

Hands folded in my lap, I interlock my fingers for comfort. Imagining this moment in the past included Grayson, excited and asking me if I'm okay about a hundred times, but never could I imagine being alone, asking a colleague for discretion after having my blood taken.

The thought of being pregnant is daunting, especially at an uncertain time for Grayson and I - another thing I never imagined happening. If anything, I could swear we finally got our happy ending. We were supposed to be stupidly in love while working toward our goals, being a power couple. Instead, we got separated by our schedules, seeds of doubt planted in this time where we were supposed to be stronger than ever.

Is the thought of having a gun held to my head just to have Grayson back too crazy? Probably.

"Hey." Looking up to see the nurse holding a paper in her hand, one I'm sure has answers to my questions and if her smile is anything to go by, the news are supposed to be happy. "Congratulations Y/N. If you need anything, just ask."

For a moment my heart stops, feeling it sink at the thought of telling Grayson and have him be anything but happy. But I am. I am elated.

Placing a hand over my stomach, a smile creeps up on me, spreading until my entire face lights up and I can't help the cheerful giggle escaping me.

"I'm gonna be a mom."

3rd person POV

Standing in front of his windows, looking down at New York with a pensive smile, Grayson thought about how he needs to step up. His first attempt at a proposal failed, miserably, but he wasn't planning on giving up.

She means too much to him to ever give up on her.

The way she said no told him there is more to the story. It was painfully obvious she loves him with all her heart but Grayson wondered what would make a woman in love refuse a proposal.

"Bro, we have a huge problem." Ethan's out of breath, stepping beside his brother with mouth open, still heaving. "And when I say huge problem, I mean a massive, colossal fucking problem."

Looking at his brother, Grayson's jaw clenches with resolve because the blood on Ethan's face is speaking volumes of their issue.

No matter how often he tried to tie up loose ends, it turns out it's nearly impossible to entirely pull out of a decades long criminal history.

"Who the fuck is it?" Fists tights at each side, Grayson's face hardens and his lips press together as Ethan sighs.

"We don't know yet. It's a paid hit, that's sure." Wiping the blood of his bottom lip, Ethan smirks. "But I intend to find out who hired him and I plan to do it the hard way." Raising his eyebrow mischievously, revealing a side of him that's usually dormant but it's awake now and Grayson already knows this would be a fine line to walk on. "You in or what?" Ethan's snarkiness makes Grayson roll his eyes as well as his sleeves.

"I actually liked this shirt." But then again, Grayson is worse than Ethan could ever be and he was about to make that man regret the day he was born. Grayson ‘CEO’ Dolan was gone and Hellhound took over.

"Oh well, I'll buy another one." A cold smile upon his lips, he reverts back to the man he was and he couldn't find it in himself to regret it.

1st person POV

Chewing on the inside left corner of my lower lip, I knew this anxiety wouldn't be good for the baby. Isn't it odd how quickly a mother starts to love her child? Even before it's a formed human being the love is so great you can't put yourself first.

I'm already daydreaming of the day I get to meet my baby, to hold it and see it looking back at me with Grayson's eyes. I'm imagining all the things we'll do together and all the ways this baby could change the world.

Drawing a deep breath, I close my eyes and smile, resting my head on my propped up hand and make a choice - I have to tell Grayson and no matter how he reacts, I will not be hurt by it.

If he wants nothing to do with us, I will survive.

Dialing his number, I tap my nails against the metal table in the canteen. Waiting for him to pick up seemed as fruitful as waiting for rain in the Sahara Desert.

Rubbing my forehead, I sigh and lose a little bit of my resolve before realizing I'll have to call his office instead.

"Dolan enterprises, who am I speaking to?" The gentle, feminine voice on the other side of the line makes me tense up, recognizing it immediately. Isn't this the same voice that picked up that night I had nearly lost my mind and frantically called Ethan, weeping as if someone had died? It's the same voice that made me doubt Grayson and the doubt never quite left me despite Ethan's reassurance.

"Y/N Y/L/N. Mister Dolan is expecting my call." I cringe at the mister part, especially since I use it way too often in a sexual manner in private.

"Oh. Well, I have no record of that. Beside, mister Grayson is a very busy man. He has no time for frolicking whores." And the next thing I hear is her hanging up on me, the line going silent.

Looking at the phone in shock, I hold onto it with a death grip. The nerve this bitch has is definitely irking me. I'm most certain she knows who I am and this disrespectful behavior is going to get her a slap - a bitch slap for a bitch.

Gritting my teeth, I let out pent up air through my flared nostrils. Usually, this sort of thing wouldn't leave a dent - perhaps I thought we were stronger than that before but now? Now when I can tell he's keeping secrets and lying to me? It's impossible not to question everything, and that doubt is exactly what breeds jealousy, possessiveness and utter hatred for the woman picking up MY MAN's phone.

3rd person POV

The last thing Y/N expected is to come home before Grayson, a little after three past midnight, courtesy of a chain car crash. What she expected less is to have him come up to their penthouse few minutes after with his normally white shirt drenched in blood.

Swallowing thickly, Y/N tried her best not to lose her mind over the sight, walking toward Grayson who looks like a deer caught in headlights. He hoped she'd be asleep by now, giving him a solid chance to hide his extracurricular activities he never wanted her to find out about.

Yet, he can't seem to find it in himself to lie to her. He's not ashamed of who he is or who he was. He's not ashamed of those he killed to protect his loved ones, her included.

She knew who he is when they fell in love. She loved him when he was drenched in blood as much as when he was picture perfect, her prince charming...from a much darker fairytale.

"Doll, I..." Before he could make an excuse or apologize, Y/N interjects, her hands cupping his scruffy, bloodied cheeks, her eyes boring into his bloodshot ones.

"Are you okay?" That's all she cared about. She didn't give a shit whose blood is on him, as long as it isn't his or any other Dolan's.

She's not supposed to condone his behavior, she's not supposed to blindly accept the fact that he made her a promise and he just broke it, yet she wanted him safe more than she wanted to safeguard her beliefs. More than she could focus on the future well being of the heartbeat under hers.

"Yeah." Grayson nods faintly, managing a weak smile for her sake but also in admiration. If it were any other woman, he'd be arguing right now, but it's not. It's Y/N, his doll, his soulmate. She simply takes his hand, as gory as it is and leads him toward the bathroom.

Sitting him down on the toilet, she works on unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off his perfectly chiseled body. His eyes are fixed on her face and tired eyes, realizing she may not be screaming at him but this - him and his choices are wearing her thin. She's fading and he's doing nothing to help her and that makes his chin tremble, making her glance at his lips.

It would be easy to ignore it, to ignore him, but she couldn't ignore the desire to kiss his plump lips, the very lips that signify both heaven and hell to her.

Grayson stands, his fingers hooking the bottom of her shirt, pulling it off with ease, especially since her hair is up in a fish braid as it always is when she's at work.

Leaning in, his forehead rests upon hers, noses brushing as he waits, giving her a chance to bail, to choose if kissing him now would compromise her sanity. And it would. She knows that her sanity is compromised either way, which is exactly why she kisses him, giving him a hard and needful, so incredibly emotional kiss that it used up every last bit of oxygen in Grayson's lungs and he smiles against her lips because she is the only woman that has ever been capable of making him lose his breath. No one ever came even remotely close until she came into his life and claimed him hers for the rest of his life.

"Take your pants off." She commands, slipping her own off along with her panties in one try, walking into the shower without looking back.

She knew he would obey.

Starting the water, she smiles when she feels his hands on her hips, swiftly turning her back to face him in all his glory.

Her hands gripping his forearms, Y/N uses the chance to pull him under the running water, rubbing the blood off him carefully without making eye contact.

The blood pooled around their feet, making Y/N wonder if this is the rest of her life - consuming passion and cleaning the blood off him, no questions asked because she might not like the answers.

She couldn't deny the lure of darkness, of loving a man who is capable of horrific acts that seems to care for her more than anyone else in the world.

Grayson could see the wheels in her head turning, overthinking as always and once again, it is his fault. So, he does what he always does when he wants her to stop thinking - he slams his lips against hers, his left hand at the back of her neck and right one delicately sliding down her back to grip her ass.

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers against her lips, pushing her back against the cold tiles behind them.

“Really?”

A growl escapes him as if her words anger him. His hands leave her ass and move to her stomach. His lips finding hers in a rough kiss. One of his hands move lower, fingers playfully flicking over her clit before he pushes a finger inside her.

“Really.”

She moans softly at the feeling of his oddly cold fingers in her warm folds. Grayson pushes another finger in and starts moving them in and out at a slow rate.

“Faster”, Y/N moans impatiently, bucking her hips against his hand. Moving his hand faster coaxes soft moans that spill from her lips.

“Tell me what you need”, Grayson smirks, enjoying how easily he can make her his, how even when she should be screaming at him, she’s screaming for him.

‘‘You’’, she responds, her breathing fast, shallow and unpredictably paired with faint gasps that make him shiver with his own need growing.

‘‘Be specific, doll’’, teasing, Grayson slows his fingers down.

‘‘Your dick in my pussy’’, she groans with irritation, gripping his hips as if it would make him stumble into her. Yet, Grayson grins at her and his kisses grow sporadic as his hands grip his length, carefully holstering her up.

Pushing inside, he can’t help but snicker at how wet she is and how easily he fit this time around. He’s loving the ego boost, knowing she craves him with all her being and she’s taking him so well.

However, neither of them can focus too much on anything but the arising orgasms and while Grayson tries to keep a steady rhythm, celebrating every moan and pant passing her glorious lips, he can sense her clenching around him before he’s quite there.

Holding her in place until the aftershock waves pass her body, Grayson litters her neck with tender kisses.

“Let me go.” She orders, her voice a little shaky and while Grayson wanted to hold her a while longer, not even in a sexual manner, he obeys. Assuming she’s leaving, Grayson shuts the water off only to raise his eyebrows when she goes to her knees.

“Didn’t really think I’d leave you high and dry, did you?” Smirking, her hand grabs a hold of his base and slowly sucks the tip into her mouth.

Looking up at the amused man through her eyelashes, she takes more of his hardened length in her mouth. She never really saw the point of blowjobs, especially watching it on porn where it looked like every girl acted as if they’re eating the most delicious treat and would gladly choke on a guy’s dick, but with Grayson, she came to realize it’s not about the act or about it tasting good – it’s about how badly you want the other person to be puddy in your hands, how even a man as powerful as Grayson will resort to begging when she’s edging him to the brink of insanity.

It’s about power, about pleasure and most of all, it’s about love.

“Y/N”, he moans, grabbing her hair before pulling on it. She glances up at him coyly and he grunts, nearly coming because of the mere sight of her.

‘‘Doll’’, Grayson moans, bucking his hips into her mouth.

“I am going to cum”, he warns in an attempt to pull out, letting go of her hair but she holds his hips firmly, allowing him to come into her mouth, swallowing every last drop.

Panting, he stares down at her as she wipes her plump lips, unable to let the moment pass him by. She’s everything he ever wanted. "Marry me." His words make her choke on her own spit, her eyes widening.

"You're asking me while I'm literally on my knees in front of you? Was the orgasm that mind-blowing? Is it because I swallowed?" She continued berating him with a coy smile, taking his hand on her way up, allowing her hands to travel his body with care, teasing him with her fingertips fanning across his skin.

"Ah, maybe?" He chuckles, groaning as her lips connect with his collarbone only to grunt when her teeth come to play and she nibbles on his skin.

Realizing he won't get anywhere with her if she keeps on working him up, Grayson pushed her lightly, enough for her to pout but understand he means business.

"Seriously though. I asked you once and you told me you'd think about it, but can you honestly imagine a day where we aren't together?" And he made perfect sense, she knew that. But ever since she nearly died...more than once, Y/N wasn't sure about anything in her life except Grayson and she loves him, so much so she can't breathe when he's gone for too long but marriage? It still didn't seem like something he wanted nor needed.

If she is being completely honest, she's still scared he's only asking to please her, to make her happy, not because he wants to be a husband, or that he might resent that down the line.

And most of all, she’s terrified of him doing this to cover up he cheated on her. Something she’s been agonizing over that for a while, trying to have some trust in him. He’s earned that much.

"No, I can't imagine a life without you. But that doesn't mean we have to get married, Gray."

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously at her, Grayson scoffs. "You really don't want to marry me, do you doll?"

"I do. But the thing is, are you asking because you can't imagine not marrying me or because you think I won't be with you if you don't? Because that piece of paper means nothing to me if it's pressuring you to do something you aren't comfortable with. I love you too much to do that to you." Holding back some of her concerns, she finally leaves the shower with a little help from the naked specimen before her.

"I'm doing this because I want to marry you, doll. I want to be your husband, to be yours in every possible way."

"Sure you're ready to part with that bachelor title?" She cocked an eyebrow, smirking at him as her hands form a protective circle around him, pulling them closer together.

"I've been ready since I met you."

Maybe telling him she’s pregnant won’t be such a disaster after all.

Watching him run into their bedroom, Y/N follows with a new wave of certainty. He loves her. She loves him. Any of the doubts her mind created are likely due to her insecurities and she was done letting them drive her insane.

For the first time in forever, her mind was clear and she was happy to give her hand to Grayson, watching him slip on the ring officially with no regrets.

“Can we talk though?” Y/N draws a shaky breath, hoping to finally shed some light on the second fear.

“Always.” His comforting reassurance made her smile, but her heart quivers in fear.

“Did you cheat on me with your assistant?” Holding his gaze, she notices a slight shift in his pupil, lips parting.

“No. Kerry works for me. That’s all. Why…Why would you think that?” It’s not the best solution – lie right as he put a ring on her finger, even worse to make her feel guilty for asking, but Grayson panicked and he needed the suspicion gone. All this time, he assumed he was in the clear after Ethan said he lied about it after all, but he never once realized it was eating away at her.

“Maybe because she keeps messing up our lunch dates? Or how when I call I’m suddenly called a frolicking whore or how when she picked up your phone she said you’re busy with her and it didn’t sound like it was work kind of busy and I might be overreacting but I swear that woman makes my blood boil and I want to break her like a twig. You trained me! I could do it!” Rambling, Y/N started to laugh at her own jealousy, especially when she realized she’s arguing while they’re both naked. In fact, they just got engaged naked and if anything, Y/N surely couldn’t ever think they’re normal or boring.

Pulling her closer, Grayson kisses her temple. “I promise Kerry isn’t an issue. I’m devoted to you. So, don’t worry. I’ll deal with her myself.”

But happiness can never last forever. In a week’s time, exactly on the day the pair planned to escape their duties for lunch and longer, Y/N was ready to share the news with Grayson. She was prepared to tell him he’d become a father in about six months or so and she was even more excited to see the confused look on his face when she takes him to the doctor’s with her, allowing him to see the baby and connect the dots himself.

But, that didn’t happen. As always, when one makes plans, destiny sure loves to fuck with them.

"Kerry, can you please let Y/N know I'll be a few minutes late for our lunch date? Just let her into the office." Grayson smiles at his assistant, his eyes bright as they always are when Y/N is on his mind and while he would kill, literally, to be there on time, she's the very reason why he can't do that anymore. He can't be that person and love her at the same time. She deserves better than that. She deserves the man he's trying to be. The man only she brings to the surface - someone he's proud to be.

"Of course." Kerry returns his smile, a little wider, her eyes unblinking as they always are when he's around - filled with emotions Grayson never gave any fuel to. She watched him leave, her grin reduced to a wicked smirk as he disappears behind the corner, just in time for Y/N to arrive.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You don't have an appointment with the boss." Fake pleasantries and smiles never fooled Y/N, though she struggled to understand what exactly made Grayson so certain Kerry isn't an issue.

Ever since she met the snake, well, talked to the snake, Y/N was painfully aware of her attempts to drive a wedge between her and Grayson and the worst part? He's either too daft to see the truth or he's willing to drag her through hell for another woman.

"I don't need an appointment to see my boyfriend…Well, fiancé." Y/N remarks, folding her arms across her chest, glaring at the blonde before her with confidence she's having difficulty maintaining.

Kerry is breathtakingly gorgeous, incredibly well built and perhaps part of the issue stems from the fact that Y/N still can't understand why a man like Grayson would ever settle for her. Because she truly didn't know if someone like Kerry would eventually make him see how plain she truly is.

"Either way, he's not in his office. Something about a lunch date with his new client. Feel free to wait around." Chuckling, Kerry smirked, her words dripping with venom.

"Be more pathetic than you already are. Because in the end, he will come back to me." Clicking her nails against the solid wooden desk before her, Kerry bore a sly smirk, almost victorious once she realized Y/N is clueless and she finally has something to hurt her with.

"He didn't tell you. Did he? How he used to fuck me. Or how he kissed me recently." Raising her eyebrows, expecting tears and maybe even a full breakdown, Kerry wished she could take a picture for gloating.

Y/N stared at her for ten seconds, maybe more, holding her breath in order to hold back her anger, disappointment, and most of all tears. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not even in front of the secretary. Grayson might not be the scariest person in New York anymore but she couldn't allow any trace of emotion show. Perhaps it's all she went through with Mikhail or the Serpents, but she had hardened, her face remaining impassive even in the face of certain death so what is just another woman who plays with her claws.

"That's the key difference." Y/N smiles coldly, stepping closer to the desk with an air of confidence around her - fake it till you make it, she thought.

"He fucked you but he makes love to me." Planting both her palms flat against the desk, leaning closer to the woman who is hell bent on making her relationship crumble and she speaks through gritted teeth: "Get in line bitch, before I make you."

"Ahh, doll! Hope I didn't keep you waiting." Grayson comes up from behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back and she straightens up, faking a smile for Kerry before turning back on her heel, her lips finding Grayson's instinctively.

She let her frustrations free, consuming his lips shamelessly, rather unlike her in public and Grayson knew.

"Tell me you have some time for me?" She whispers against his lips, aware of Kerry's glare at the back of her head. In fact, she hoped the bitch is paying attention because if she has to stake her claim again, she'll need nose surgery. She couldn’t focus on her claims of recent events, but to learn he bedded her destroyed her.

“Actually, you have a meeting in ten.” Kerry interjects but Grayson shakes his head.

"Always have time for my favorite girl. Already took the rest of the day off." And that was an official win in her books, pecking his lips again with genuine enthusiasm.

“Reschedule Kerry. And make sure Ethan calls me back once he’s done…with his current client.” His voice is deep and authoritative, starkly different than when he talks to her. Y/N couldn't help but wonder if he purposefully speaks in a softer tone when he is with her.

Walking off with their arms linked, Grayson decided to ask about the palpable anger once they’re out of the building. So, the moment they found themselves in the limousine Grayson liked to use lately, the gloves were off.

"Want to tell me what that was about? And don't tell me nothing because I could feel you wanted to slap a bitch." Chuckling under this breath, he noticed her lips press together, her eyebrows furrowing and her gentle, warm gaze turned icy, dangerous.

"Your secretary told me you cancelled lunch and then she proceeded to tell me we wouldn't last because she's apparently so fuckable and you know that from experience." Pursing her lips, she could tell he wasn't happy with Kerry and her revelation.

"She's lying. Right?" He swallowed thickly, blinking a little too fast for an innocent man.

Avoiding her gaze, Grayson cursed at the day he took pity and allowed Kerry to be his secretary after closing his gang related business. There was no way around it, his past coming back to haunt him. No matter how hard he tries to run, to hide, it always finds away to ruin his present.

"There was a time we were friends with benefits." Admitting the truth, Grayson could see her horrified expression, the ache it caused.

"Oh my God, WHO HAVEN'T YOU FUCKED?" Grayson once admitted to an array of one night stands, she just never realized she'd be surrounded with them on daily basis.

"I'm seriously asking! How many of them do I see every day and smile kindly at while they discuss how I'll be just another girl on your list?"

"You're not another girl on my list." Grayson interjects, unaware he'd only make it worse.

"Why does she even work for you? She's been nothing but trouble since the day you hired her! She lied about our lunch date, so what else had she fucked up for us?" Shaking her head, Y/N pulls her hair back, feeling suffocated under the weight and warmth it exudes, making her sweat profusely.

"I owe her. Okay? Because when I was recklessly aiming to kill anyone who'd harm you, her brother got murdered as retaliation. Can you not understand that?" Frowning with the memory of his friend's lifeless body, Grayson let out a heavy sigh, one that reminded him of the weight he only ever feels lighten around Y/N. She was usually his cure, a medicine for all that ails him but for the first time since she came into his life, she added onto that weight.

"And that justifies leaving her in a position where she will do anything to break us up? Because if that's so, at least I know your priorities now." Turning away from him, unable to escape while driving in the back of a limousine on the highway, Y/N wished she could jump out and risk it, anything to avoid looking at him or even breathing the same air, but she couldn't. Not with a new life inside her. Not when her worst fears came true – she wasn’t his fiancée because he loves her, but because it’s convenient for him to ease his guilt.

1st person POV

“I’m pregnant.” I admit, deciding to air out all the secrets I’ve been carrying around, all the pain I’ve held inside. If he wants to end it, this is when it happens because even when I tell him news he should react to, all I get is a faint nod.

“I know. Saw the labs in your purse.” And that’s when everything comes barreling down.

Is this why he proposed? Is this why he stays?

“I wanted you to tell me on your own. I found out this morning which is why I took the rest of the day off. Thought we could go up to the garden.” But I couldn’t listen to him anymore nor his lies. The ache in my chest had torn my heart to pieces and I was so tired of holding it together, allowing a single tear to slip past my defenses.

"Grayson, I know." I frown as my voice cracks and he furrows his eyebrows. His hands are close, forming fists. His eyes focus on me, unblinking and empty as if all emotions drained from them when I spoke up, sharing what's eating at me.

"Know what?" His calm, almost political response didn't anger me like I expected, I didn't throw a fit. Instead, I simply shake my head and press my lips together, holding my breath in hope of holding back tears.

"When did you stop loving me?" Speaking is hard, especially with a growing lump at the back of my throat that's making it harder to even breathe.

My words anguish him, terrify and confuse him and I wish I could believe the sudden show of emotion but it's impossibly sad how much I wish I didn't doubt him. I wish I could trust everything he says or does, perhaps I do, but I can't allow myself to immerse in his charming, murky brown eyes again. Not when the uncertainty is gripping every inch of my aching heart.

"I didn't. I love you so, so much! Doll, I love you more than life." He speaks with such conviction, his hands quickly taking mine for reassurance. And it’s romantic and all I needed to hear, yet I can't help but wonder if that's only because I'm pregnant with his child...his heir.

Is that something I'd want for my baby? To live with a target on its back, being groomed to take over an empire their father can't seem to dismantle?

I clear my throat, fixing his fearful gaze with my softer one. "Never love anything more than life." Unless it's our baby. Love our baby more than your empire if you can't love me as much, I think but don’t say.

Wanting to do the right thing is far from doing it.

"Why did you kiss her?" I finally clarify my initial statement, because now I know and no matter what the goal was...I know and there's no going back.

"I didn't want to.” Grayson tries to clarify before I can get another word in, almost pissed I’d ever doubt him. But how can I not. How can I just ignore the signs?

“She kissed me. I pushed her off. I did everything right!" Raising his voice makes me flinch and I hate that. I hate how easily I submit when someone raises their voice and he knows that. He’s aware that’s why we talk and not yell at each other, but emotions are running high and I’m praying he’s not doing this on purpose.

"That's not the point, Grayson! The point is…why did she feel so comfortable to get so intimate? Why would she think you'd kiss her back?!" Folding my arms across my lower stomach, I try to ignore the slight ache spreading inside.

It’s impossible not to worry about the baby, if this argument is something that will cause an unfortunate event and I draw a deep breath, looking at Grayson who is shaking his head as if I’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world, but I’ve gotten to him. His pause is simply because he is out of excuses.

"Because she's a psychopath? How should I know?! Doll, I love you."

"Don't fucking call me that!" I snap, wiping my chin to clear the spit that escaped me when the anger burst and if I could, I’d have hurt him in that moment too. I’d show him my wounds, but I stop, trying to compose myself.

Not only is my fiancé lying to me, but he’s had his brother help him cover up his deeds as well.

"Don't push me away. Don't use your insecurities as excuses to push me away and break us apart. We're supposed to be happy! Engaged and expecting!"

The audacity!

"Well, I'm not the one who lied. I’m not the one throwing your flaws in your face. Had you told me the truth or at least tried to nip it in the bud, I'd be fine with it. But you felt the need to lie, to force Ethan of all people to support your lies and I... there must have been a reason for that. You're keeping things from me and I thought it was my fault and this is the second time you've made me feel guilty for the issues that stem from your inability to communicate like a normal human being and I'm so fucking tired of it. I'm fucking tired of picking up the pieces every time shit goes down because you believe you're blameless." Looking away, I bite my lip and for a moment I wonder if I went too far. But I did mean it. All our issues come from his secrecy and lack of communication and it’s impossible not to wonder if it comes from a lack of trust too.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was never my intention to make you feel like that." Reaching for my hand, he sighs when I move it away, disgusted with him at this point.

"Does that actually matter when the result is pain? Fuck, Grayson, I thought you said it would be different now. I thought I'd be your priority for once, but it remains a verba, not res thing."

I can hardly stomach his presence, let alone touch and the pain in my stomach isn’t letting up.

“Gah!” I scream out, the sudden sharp pain making my defenses fall, revealing the vulnerability beneath as I grasp his hand, desperate to have him close.

No matter how much pain he causes, I still look to him for a cure. How fucked up is that?

"Are you okay?" His free hand braces me, holding me as if I’m made of porcelain, not steel.

"I feel like I'll be sick." I mutter, cold sweat running at the back of my neck and forehead, my hands shaking as they grip his as if he would save me. As if he would make it all better.

Shortage of breath is the first sign my pain has caused a panic inside, the thought of harm coming to the baby draining every bit of sanity I’ve got left. I'm breathing but the air just won't go in, like my lungs are caged birds. Next comes the rising panic I wanted to avoid, the dizzy feeling and the need to get low to the ground.

“Breathe.” Grayson whispers and I soon feel the car stop, the door opening and our driver giving me a look of pity – the kind I hated most of all.

"I'll help you out." Grayson all but carried me out, allowing my feet to touch the ground simply to save my pride, probably afraid I’d make him let me go if he tried anything more. Perhaps I would if the pain and panic didn’t blind me entirely, leaving me gasping, my mind spiraling as I look down in fear of what I might find. Noticing no blood, I manage a faint smile and tilt my head up to meet his dazzling, warm eyes.

Damn those eyes I love so much.

Swallowing my pride, I decide to thank him as the pain gradually subsides. Holding me close, keeping my heart beating, Grayson had managed to calm me down, my breathing synchronized with his and I realize my blood pressure must have skyrocketed during the argument and it must have caused pain.

"Tha –“, but I don’t get to say it. Not when a deafening sound of gunshots leaves me breathless. It takes me a moment to fully understand what is happening, the screams around me fading to nothingness as Grayson spins us around, his arms firmly around me as if they’re my armor.

Gasping for air, I feel the arms around me loosen, a loud thud following and the warmth disappears only for horror to take its place.

“GRAYSON!"

3rd person POV

Y/N’s scream rippled through the street, the raw intensity of her fear cracking the heart of any human close enough to hear. She falls to her knees, helpless as her fingers grip his white shirt lacking evidence any harm came to him.

Her eyes lay upon his, desperately searching for signs of life and while the driver dials 911, Y/N needed someone else. She needed Ethan but she couldn’t move, her entire body shaking violently.

“Doll”, Grayson breathes out and she no longer remembers the anger in which she told him to forget that nickname. It’s a distant memory as she sobs, her vision blurred with tears. His hand clutches her right one, forcing a smile to ease her mind but even he knows that’s impossible at this point.

“It’s – It’s”, a cough interrupts his need to comfort her, yet she knew exactly what he wants to tell her. She knows exactly what he means and it only breaks her further, especially when she notices the blood pooling under her knees – his blood – the blood he needs to survive. And she’s practically a doctor, she’s supposed to help him, but she can’t – there’s nothing she can do. She can’t even move him.

“It’s not fine! None of this is fine!” Inadvertently screaming, she wipes her left cheek with the back of her hand, pissed and so, so in love with him for trying to calm her down and give her some hope and while she can hear the sirens in the distance, he is fading right before her eyes and the terror of a thought invaded her mind – he will die.

“I don’t want to live without you. Grayson, we have so much more to do and I…I’m so sorry I didn’t accept your proposal the first time you asked!” Her voice cracks, forcing her to stop and swallow for a moment, long enough to catch a crooked smile on his quivering lips.

“I’m so angry at you Grayson Dolan! You don’t get to die if it’s not by my hand! Do you understand that?!” Squeezing her hand, Grayson’s lips part with intent to tell her he understands.

He wanted to tell her he loves her and always will and that she will never be alone even if he doesn’t survive. For the first time ever, Grayson looked up at Y/N with fear because he knew whoever did this to him was aiming for his girl and the baby inside her. Grayson Dolan, the Hellhound, the man who fears nothing found himself frozen in fear as his Y/N stood above him, almost hysterical. And he couldn’t do a damn thing. He couldn’t do more than he already did – save her.

He couldn’t hold her and make her tears dry and he couldn’t manage his last I love you nor a meek smile.

What he could do is imagine if she would be happier if he just let her go when he had the chance?

If he never came back into her life once she walked out that door?

She made him happier he had ever been, but did he do the same for her or is the danger he put her in by loving her worth it? She could have done all the things she wanted to without him holding her back and yet she stayed. She stayed and loved him so well he actually saw a future past the life he was born into.

She’d be happy without him, he knew it. Maybe happier than she ever was with him, but he was too selfish to allow it, too possessive to imagine another man’s hands upon her.

She isn’t happy now, he’s certain of it. The tears in her eyes tell him that and all he wishes is to take back what he said in the limo, to remind her how they were and not their last day of screaming…of blur.

Eyelids growing heavy, Grayson’s smile fades, praying she find happiness she deserves once more.

All that he kept thinking throughout their whole flight is it could take his whole damn life to make it right because he knew he had wronged her. They had gotten through so much worse than this before and he wondered what's so different this time that she just can't ignore? He could see her saying it is much more than just his last mistake and had the pain nor this shooting happened she’d have asked for some time apart for both their sakes.

And Grayson doesn't know where to look, his sight fading. His words just break and melt, there’s not enough time to ask for forgiveness. There is never enough time and he prays, for the first time in a long time, he prays for someone to save him from this darkness. All he needs is one more moment to make things right, for his last words to be of love and not a fight.

Closing his eyes, he feels his shoulders are shaking with force, realizing it’s Y/N and her attempt to keep him awake but he can’t do it, he can’t open his eyes. He can’t even hear her anymore, but he senses her hands on his face, the olive hand cream he bought her invading his senses and he’s grateful – he’s in the arms of the one he loves most – not a bad way to go for a man with his past.

“Grayson?” Y/N croaks, shaking him once more before her shaky hands grip his cheeks and her tears fall down on him as well.

She’s gasping for air that simply isn’t there. Her throat burns, forming a silent scream. The pressure inside her chest pushes forth, releasing the most hysterical cry, the screaming sobs only interrupted by her need to draw breath.

It’s a deep, primal sound, one humans are programmed not to ignore. Those who hid previously finally continued on their way, turning their heads toward Y/N, some of them even filming the scene. Caught between an impulse to help and another to stay out of bother, some simply looking for something to gather followers on Twitter, people gathered around them.

But whatever they chose their day had been altered. To be so close to such pain changes a person, even just temporarily. Their own pains come a little closer to the surface; their empathy is triggered.

Y/N can’t remember when the ambulance came, still checking his pulse – the only part of this keeping her breathing. His pulse is faint, but it’s there and she selfishly thought it’s her man fighting to stay with her.

For her.

She stepped away as they dragged him away from her, as if she wasn’t even there. Stepping up into the vehicle, she sat beside him and grabbed a hold of his hand, struggling to keep herself afloat. His hand is cold, something she never once felt in all the time she knew him and it only deepens her emotional breakdown.

It was all happening so fast, she couldn’t keep up. They got to the hospital rather quickly, taking him away from her without even giving her a chance to kiss him one more time.

Just in case.

She shakes her head at that thought, refusing to think so negatively at a time where Grayson needed hope. She needed hope too.

Pulling her phone out, she calls the one person she knew could give her some.

“Ethan?” Her hoarse voice is a dead giveaway something happened all while Ethan was in much bigger shit, blood up to his elbows after executing the last man they captured after procuring vital information.

“Who died?” It’s all he can say, realizing the answer may just kill him. He was calling Grayson minutes ago to tell him of a shooting they planned to kill Y/N in order to break him and he didn’t pick up. Shivers run down his spine as Y/N’s pause chips away what sanity he has. And it’s not much at this point.

“I need you.”

Ethan didn't think, grabbing his gun and jacket, his heart sinking at the sound of her voice. "Tell me where you are."

His assistant jumped as he barreled through the hallway, blood still fresh on his hands, a telltale sign he's losing his mind and someone might suffer for it.

"Where do you think you're going like that?" She hissed, stepping in his way confidently, refusing to buckle under his ruthless glare.

"Move." Ethan growls, his jaw clenching and his lips pressing together. He's furious, but he doesn't scare her. So, instead of moving away, she moves in, her arms wrapping around his tense body, ignoring the fact he's not returning the hug. Instead, she takes a whiff of his cologne, comforting herself since he didn't allow her to comfort him.

"I'm coming with you." Is all she says, taking her bag and his hand firmly, disallowing his near attempt at pushing her away. After months of caring for him and catering to all his needs, Selena wasn't about to abandon him when it counts the most.

Ethan wanted to thank her, to say he appreciates her kindness but the lump in his throat is too big and he fears speaking would make him crumble and he can't afford to be weak now. He can't break when he has to be the rock. So, instead of saying a word, Ethan grips her hand tighter and leads her into the company car, deciding it's best if he doesn't drive.

"Take me to the hospital." He orders the driver, turning to Selena with uncertainty in his eyes. She's trembling, he can tell, yet she's there with him - no questions asked.

Better yet, she's opening her bag and grabbing wet wipes, rubbing the blood off him meticulously to hide his crimes instead of reporting him and he never understood why Grayson was so keen on protecting Y/N before.

Truth be told, he loves Y/N like a sister and he can't imagine not having her in his life, but he finally realized the reason why Grayson loves Y/N, as selfish as that emotion is in their line of work.

Everyone needs someone to lean on and Ethan never expected to find someone he wanted as much as Selena, but in that moment he thanked his lucky stars he did. He wanted to kiss her like the moon does sea, weightless with the ability to move the deepest parts of her soul.

Ethan no longer wanted only sex and companionship, he wanted romance and vulnerability.

A faint smile appears on his lips as he shakes his head at the crazy thoughts plaguing him. Getting shot isn't always a bad thing, is it?

But reality isn't going anywhere and it weighs on him heavily.

"It's Grayson. It was a drive by shooting." Ethan tells her, noticing her pause in shock, unable to look in his eyes.

Selena lets out a shaky breath, glancing up at the tormented expression on Ethan's face and she can't help the tears forming in her eyes.

She knows Y/N and she knows Grayson and if they hadn't hired her when they did, she wasn't sure what her life would be now. She liked them, enough to make her heart ache but what made her cry is Ethan - if he hurts so does she.

And while she never thought of herself as a violent person, she discovered there is a lot more she doesn't know about herself in the past few months. Seems like Ethan is a man who is allowing her to reach into the depths of her very being, finally in tune with her own soul. So, before she comprehends it, she speaks with no remorse.

"Kill the bastard who did it."

Nodding, Ethan cracks a pained smile. "I intend to."

"Sir, we're here." The driver pipes in, ending the moment they shared effectively. Ethan had just gotten his hands clean but as he stepped out of the car, he could already tell his hands would be bloody yet again.

He didn't wait for Selena, making great strides toward the emergency room with his mind screaming at the possibility of what he might find.

He couldn't breathe until his eyes find Y/N, swallowing thickly as he sees the state she's in. Her hands are folded in her lap, bloody as are her legs. There is no light in her once bright eyes, the dash of spring her usual smile brings now turned into a harsh winter chilling everyone who dares glance at her.

Black tracks on her cheeks are constantly watering down with new streaks her unyielding, sorrowful tears create. And it breaks his heart to see her so lost, so beaten down that he can't help but remember the last time he saw her in that state - the day she rushed into his arms when Mikhail was killed and that was after a long while of torture.

This seemed worse.

Much worse.

"Y/N." His voice is deep, low, as if speaking in any other way would be disrespectful, as if her pain matters more than his.

Looking up at him, Y/N's eyebrows furrow and her eyes narrow, almost as if she can't believe Ethan is there...little did he know her mind played a trick on her and the light above his head nearly made her believe Grayson had come for her.

Standing up with the last atom of her strength, Y/N throws her arms around Ethan, holding him so tight he could have sworn she wanted to kill him. But she didn't.

She closed her eyes and pretended. She pretended it was Grayson, just for a moment. She couldn't cry anymore, not in heartbreaking sobs like she did when it first happened; the tears fell silently and her lips quivered on their own.

"He thinks I hate him." She whispers, her voice raspy and emotional, putting more weight on Ethan's shoulders. "We were arguing before it happened and", letting go of Ethan, she takes a step back only then noticing Selena behind Ethan.

Glancing at Ethan, she pressed her lips together, drawing a shuddered breath.

"If there is one thing I know it's that he loves you and he doesn't doubt your love either. He'd die for you." Ethan places his hands on her shoulders, bending enough to force eye contact she avoided as if she is ashamed of what Selena heard.

But Ethan's words rattle her, only reminding her when Grayson told her he loves her more than life. She warned him not to say that. It was heartfelt, she knew that and today she saw he truly meant it.

"And that's exactly what he did today. I want to believe, E...I want to so bad but...this was different than the first time. This was different than you." Holding her breath, Y/N felt a wave of desperation flood her and her eyes brought forth faster, anguished tears that drew their force from the very essence of her pain, so much so they don't fall but crash.

"I want to know who is responsible. I want them dead." Y/N's eyes harden as she spat hate, anger taking over as her hands form fists and Ethan could see she's out for blood. He wants to act too, he does. But she can't be a part of it.

The last thing Grayson would want is his sweet Y/N getting her hands dirty.

"I'll take care of it. I already know who it is." Ethan assures her, meaning well but all it does is set her soul aflame.

"We will take care of it. This is personal."

"No, no, no. Stay here and I'll come back when it's done. I promise." Ethan insists, pushing her back when she chuckles dryly, trying to pass him as if Selena knew the information she needed, as if she could do this herself.

Speaking though gritted teeth, Y/N stepped closer. "You can take me with you or I can follow you. Really wanna risk that?"

Licking his lips, Ethan couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her stubbornness. He’s heard how it usually troubled his brother but being confronted with it wasn’t exactly a picnic.

Her eyes are red and puffy but the determination in her eyes honestly scared him. Y/N isn’t bluffing and he had no possible way of controlling her decisions. If Grayson couldn’t, how could he?

Sighing in exasperation, Ethan rubs his chin, aware this is happening and he can’t escape. Well, he could, but it would include using force and Grayson would kill him if he even tried. Hell, he’d kick his ass just for considering it even if it was just a thought.

“Selena, can you please stay and keep us informed?” Ethan glances over his shoulder at the sweet brunette, smiling when she nods. He wished to hold her, even for just a moment but the last thing he needs is Y/N telling Grayson about them after all this is done, and it would be – Grayson would live to yell at him for inappropriate work relationships again. He knew it in his heart.

“I’ll call the boys to pick up the guilty party. Let’s go.” Y/N had to run to keep up with his stride, annoyed but unwilling to nag him when he’d given her the best possible gift – revenge.

Sitting in that waiting room would have drained her entirely, the guilt eating away at her. Y/N needed to do something to forget about Grayson’s current state, to ignore the fear’s iron grip.

The drive to their usual warehouse was longer from this side of the city, giving Y/N plenty time to think. Too much time.

It didn’t take long before her mind began to remember all the things she loved and hated about Grayson.

Ever since they moved into the penthouse, she absolutely hated his habit of spending all the hot water and forgetting to warn her about it. She hated how often he’d keep her up snoring and even more how he loved to frighten her when she’d come home from a night shift. It was a constant battle to teach him to wash the dishes properly and not just throw them away saying he’d buy new ones. Same thing applies to his clothes. She also hated how meticulous he was about the way his clothes were to be folded and especially about the way he’d insist the thermostat is supposed to be.

But there are so many things she loved about him too. She loved how sweet he is, how he’d cuddle her every day even when she was too shy to ask. He’d just know she needs it and his arms would already be around her. She also loved how he’d cut up fruit for her because he knew how she loves to snack on it, or how he’d leave her hearts on the mirror every time he’d finish his showers only for her to discover them after he’d gone to work. She adored how much thought he’d put in every word, every touch, every single gift he’d given her including his unwilling attainment of a singular hoodie for them to have a sense of normalcy. And most of all, she loved how he dismantled his gang related business just to make sure they have a bright future together.

Smiling, she realized every single action he does is to make her feel safe and loved. It’s his way of telling her he loves her without a single word passing his tender lips.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she hated herself with such ferocity over her last words spoken to him in undiluted anger. Their last interaction should have been filled with love not rage.

She never quite realized it before, but she was always his greatest achievement, the one he was proud of the most and now when they were inches from their happily ever after, from becoming a real family, they took him away from her – they ripped her heart out and she wanted to repay the favor.

“If something happens to me, you’d protect her, right?” Grayson tilts his head, hoping his brother would give him some sign he’d make sure his doll would be safe even if one of his enemies take him out. He’s tried to retire and forget the world he was born into but to do so isn’t up to him. It took him a while to understand that he will never truly be retired.

Even if he isn’t a criminal anymore, they still remember him and he’s still the symbol of the undefeated gang – The house of the rising sun ruled over New York for decades and many wanted to dethrone them, unfortunately that is possible only through slaughter.

“I would. She’s like a sister to me. I’d never let any harm come to her.” Ethan responds, not even thinking about it. It’s true, his affection for Y/N is strong and platonic.

“Promise me.” Grayson demands softly, aware he shouldn’t be distrustful toward his twin but he couldn’t help but be irrational when it’s Y/N’s life at stake.

All the signs and latest assassins have made him paranoid, spending so much of his time making sure none of them ever get close to Y/N and he wasn’t sorry.

When Y/N is at stake, he’d let blood run until there’s a river flowing through the streets. She’s his weakness and yet the reason why he remains Hellhound to any with intent of using her against him.

Those who tried are all dead now.

Ethan understood, though, willing to make his brother a vow. “I promise.”

He didn’t feel like he’s upholding his promise anymore. It felt like he broke it before his brother had even died, even more when he saw Y/N reach for a gun in her purse.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ethan gave her an incredulous look, nearly having a stroke when he saw her take the safety off.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Her impassive response only made him more anxious and he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“I thought he bought you a taser not a fucking gun!” Shouting, he tried to pry the gun from her hands but he found resistance.

“He did. But I took his.” Pulling away from Ethan, she rolls her eyes at his paled face.

“He thought me how to use this as well how to fight. I’m not a damsel in distress and I’m done waiting for someone to protect me and the baby.” Opening the door, she stepped out swiftly, setting off to where Grayson once took her. Granted, he took her against his will because she demanded to know everything.

“BABY?!” Ethan’s gruff scream had made her stop, waving him over to quicken his pace.

“Yeah. Congrats on being an uncle. Well, you’re not one yet but you will be.” She chuckles and Ethan can’t help but wonder if she’s completely mad at this point.

There’s one thing to put her in danger but the baby too?

Grayson will surely kill him when he finds out.

“You’re going to get me killed.” Ethan complains as she opens the door and is found face to face with three people, all tied up and gagged. Two men she had never seen in her life and a woman.

“Fucking Kerry.” Y/N spat, walking over to her, backhanding her without remorse.

Kerry seems almost amused as she shoots Y/N a wink only sending her into a fit of rage. “You fucking bitch!”

No one dared to hold her back as Y/N screamed, throwing punch after punch, not even when Kerry’s nose was clearly broken and bleeding and Y/N’s raw knuckles weren’t much better.

Ethan grabbed a hold of her, pulling her arms behind her back seemingly the easiest way to stop her without harming her or the baby.

“I will fucking kill you!” Y/N screamed as Ethan dragged her out and away from the situation. Before the door closed, Y/N could hear three distinctive gunshots. It only made it worse.

Ethan didn’t care if she hated him, he protected her as he promised his twin. Rage often makes us do what we regret when our mind is clear once again and he knew she’d regret it eventually. Killing is never easy and someone as pure as her would be haunted by it as he and Grayson are.

“WHY?! I WANTED TO DO IT!” Her venom turned to tears and before Ethan knew it, her body shook with new sobs breaking through the surface. “I can’t do this without him, E. I can’t!” She wailed, allowing Ethan to carry her back into the car.

He cradled her like a child, holding her close, his own tears showing. They truly understood one another, their pain is the same. “Shh.” Ethan whispered, worried about the baby and the stress this day had brought. “You won’t have to. My brother is nothing if not stubborn. He won’t leave us yet.”

The two returned to the hospital, neither capable of speaking anymore. There’s nothing to say anymore, nothing to do, just wait.

“He’s out of surgery but we won’t be able to see him for a few more hours until he’s stable.” Selena explains, only then receiving a hug she craved for the entire day. Ethan’s chest had become home for her and it felt indescribably good to be home again.

Y/N watched with envy, wondering when will she be able to return to her safe place. “Can I at least see him through the glass?” Y/N pipes in, weary of interrupting them in a moment they both needed. She was happy for Ethan but she couldn’t help but be bitter about her own unhappiness.

“I’ll make it happen.” Selena promised, ducking out of there quickly, a woman on a mission and she never fails.

“You lied to me.” Y/N accuses, her tired eyes giving him a bleak look of disappointment but there is no more anger left inside her. She’s desolated and the only one who would ever make it better is unconscious in a hospital bed.

“About Kerry.” She clarifies as confusion settles. “I asked you if he was cheating and he told me they kissed…Well, she kissed him. It was obviously a ploy to separate us.” Y/N musses, fixing Ethan with her gaze and he shifts uncomfortably, feeling as if he had let her down.

“I know. I saw it happen and Grayson explained. I thought the pain would be unnecessary. Besides, her motive was to break him. She admitted it to our men who took her. She wanted him to lose you, me, the company…everything before she could kill him herself. She blamed you…and him for what happened to her brother.” Ethan explains, taking her hand in his for comfort she so desperately needs but she shies away.

“It wasn’t. Anyone’s fault, I mean. Her brother knew what he was getting himself into when he joined us and Grayson avenged his death. She used their history and her brother’s death to manipulate Grayson who is drowning in guilt, but he loves you Y/N. He’d never cheat on you.”

“I know.” She manages a meek smile, averting her eyes toward the door they took him through – the door that took him away from her.

“I lost sight of it along the way, allowed that psycho to get in my head and I’m just dreading losing him now. It’s always been my worst fear…to have him choose another or lose him to death…I guess I really need to start working on my insecurities and believe in him more.” Shrugging, she glances at Ethan who nods, ecstatic she isn’t holding his lie against him.

“But you can’t lie to me like that again, E. I love you like a brother, but lying isn’t something I enjoy. Not about the psycho bitches kissing my man and not about the obvious issues regarding his past. He’s always gonna be haunted by them, won’t he?” She tilts her head to the right, sucking her bottom lips in and Ethan realizes she’s right – it’s more dangerous if she doesn’t know.

“Yes. I don’t think we’ll ever truly be rid of them. But it isn’t as bad as it seems. Not many dare come after him and those who did have all died. I expect a long while before there’s another issue. But when it comes, we will deal with it. I promise you.”

Sniffling, Y/N offers a crooked smile in gratitude though her words are borderline sarcastic. “My heroes.”

“You can see him. Go through there and they’ll take you to him. Just gotta put on those clothes, you know that better than me.” Selena’s words are like rain after months of draught and Y/N’s legs move quickly, nearly stumbling as she rushes toward the door.

1st Person POV

Shaky legs, trembling hands, I try my best not to cry as I follow a nurse on the way to where my heart lies. It’s impossible to keep my head up high anymore, this had defeated me – today had nearly killed me.

Resting a hand on my lower abdomen, I draw a quick breath to keep my mind clear, as clear as it can be considering the circumstances. What I’m certain of is that today had the power to break me yet I’m still standing and he…he’s still breathing.

Putting on the cap and gown, I’m fast to enter his room despite what I’ve been told. No one could keep me away from him in this moment, not even death.

His skin is ashen, far too pale in comparison to his usual tan. The eyes I love so much are closed shut and while he’s not dependent on a breathing tube, his state is shocking. The ever-present smirk is gone from his lips, no more teasing or sass leaving them and that’s probably the scariest part of it all – he’s quiet, eerily so.

When we first met, Grayson was a man of few words but when he gave me his heart, his trust and undying loyalty, Grayson never really shut up and while I used to be annoyed with his incredibly long stories while I was trying to study, I’d trade everything to hear them again.

"Thank you for saving me." I murmur, delicately placing my hand on his cheek, terrified it would somehow hurt him. But it doesn’t, in fact, Grayson’s eyelids flicker, his struggle to open his eyes taking my breath away.

"It's nothing." Grayson sighs; his voice raspy, his face twisting in agony as he attempts to move his hand to encase mine.

"You could have died! It’s not nothing, Grayson! Kerry could have killed us and you protected me. You kept me safe. " Helping him, I take his hand and give it a light squeeze, the one that ensured he knew how much he means to me. He manages to open his eyes, his gaze longing and sweet, no anger about Kerry or our argument from before reflecting in his brown hues.

Grayson's lips twitch as if a smile would hurt him but he wanted to try for my sake. It's as if he found my words to be ridiculous. "Dying to save the woman I love? My child? There are worse ways to go, doll. It's the most honest thing I have done in my entire life. But next time you warn me about someone, I’ll believe you."

Turning his head so his lips would press a tender kiss upon my palm, Grayson lets out a heavy sigh. "I'd have done it a thousand times over if I had to. You mean more to me than I can say, especially with morphine making me question what's real and what's a dream."

Licking his dry lips, he succeeds and smirks. "Sometimes I worry you're just a dream. You're far too good for me."

Chin quivering, I shake my head and lean in. Resting my forehead on his as gently as possible, my nose brushing his cheek, I feel my heart clench in wake of his words. I've always felt he's too good for me, but never had it crossed my mind he might feel that he's unworthy of me.

I love him very much. More than I can trust myself to say. More than words have the power to express.

“Never. We’re just right for one another.” My whisper brings about a goofy smile on his face and I can’t help but reciprocate, holding back tears I know would only weigh on him.

“Soulmates.” He speaks as his eyes close again.

“I guess you could call it that.” I nod, chuckling, receiving no response. I lean back with a fond smile, realizing he’d fallen asleep again, his relaxed smile remaining put. “Sweet dreams, handsome.”

Grayson’s recovery had certainly been difficult, especially when I once again imposed the ‘no sex’ rule until his wounds healed. “This really isn’t fair.” He’d argue but even if I did desire him, I wasn’t as easy to break.

Another thing that bothered him greatly is being unable to return to work. Ethan had taken over the business for a while, allowing me to confiscate Grayson’s work phone thus ensuring he’d take it easy for a while. However, I soon realized Ethan had a hidden motive for doing that as it protected his secret as well. Unlucky for him, one moment in the same room with him and Selena and Grayson was up to speed.

“You’re fucking your assistant, aren’t you asshole?” Grayson whisper shouts, using the first alone moment with Ethan to chew him out.

“Literally not the bigger issue here.” Ethan chuckles, watching Grayson’s face turn red and that vein on his forehead appear only signifying his frustration.

Trying to sit up, Grayson swings at Ethan in hopes of catching him and pulling him closer to do some actual damage but Ethan maneuvers around his attempt easily.

“No fighting and no getting up!” I reprimand him from outside the room, not even pretending I’m not listening in. I mean, can you blame me?

“THIS IS THE THIRD ONE IN A ROW!” Grayson growls, already seeing the headlines once a reporter catches a whiff of the story and oh the lawsuit that would follow that could bankrupt them wasn’t far in his mind either.

“At least I didn’t impregnate anyone!” Ethan retaliates and I can’t help but pipe in, slightly offended.

“HEY!”

“Sorry sis, I’m still happy for ya!” Ethan’s apology makes me smile but it also makes me walk into the room with my arms crossed.

“He’s obviously serious about Selena and from the way she handled everything that day, I’m rooting for them. So stop being a grumpy old man and start be encouraging. Love love Gray.”

Needless to say he pouted for a few days for taking Ethan’s side in the argument, but he was still the cuddliest human being on the planet. I didn’t really mind. It had given us plenty time to genuinely talk and revise what we’ve gone through and for once, neither of us had any reservations about our future.

“I never really imagined myself having kids.” Grayson admits, quietly as if it’s a sin as he lays on my chest, my fingers threading through his hair. “I mean; this life we have now is…let’s just say the old me would never believe it’s real. I still struggle believing in it.” His hand moves down to my stomach, rubbing soothing circles over my shirt.

Smiling, I pull his hand lower where the uterus is, causing him to chuckle in the process. “I hope our baby gets your brain.” He whispers, warming my heart.

“I hope she gets your eyes.” I add and in seconds, he lifts his head and looks at me with a confused look on his face.

“She?” He questions and I shrug, running my knuckle along his sharp jaw fondly.

“Just a feeling. You’re gonna have one tough girl on your hands.” I respond, enjoying the way he pales this time around.

“I can barely handle one of you. Oh, God.” Plopping his head between my boobs, he groans once more before pulling himself up and beside me. “I love you, but I’m not sure I’ll survive this fatherhood thing.”

“You ran a gang, you still run a company. You’ll do just fine you big baby.” I remark, earning an earnest cackle.

“You’re badass. More badass than me from what I’ve heard. A force to be reckoned with. Untamed, nothing but flames.” Raising his eyebrow, Grayson leans in, his eyes undeniably set on mine wishing to lean upon them with passion and fierceness.

“Thought you liked me being innocent and all that.” I roll my eyes, dragging my tongue across my lips as if to lure him in and I can tell it’s working, his gulp and dark, piercing gaze speaks volume of it.

“I supposed I was wrong. I still love all of you – innocent and ferocious. A perfect combination.” And with that, his lips meet mine and I’m in heaven once more. The happiness Grayson invokes is infectious.

It starts as a tingle in my fingers and toes, a lot like the feeling I get when I'm anxious, but instead of worry it brings forth warmth. I feel it pass through me like a warm ocean wave, washing away the stress of my days to leave me refreshed inside. As the wave fades I savor the memory of its gentle touch. The feeling is a blissful evocation of time spent with Grayson on the beach when he whisked me away to Hawaii and we dared to dream how we’d could run away and forever be as carefree.

How I loved those days when we walked on the sand and simply talked, laughed and made silly jokes as well as the long, fiery nights filled with nothing but intimacy and pleasure. But they can continue here as well, our love can remain as strong as it was back then.

There will always be another who wants to take the crown of the Hellhound – the king of New York and I was afraid. I was terrified.

Not anymore.

Grayson is no longer the only one with a taste for blood and God help those who try to harm my family.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tags: @voidgray @dancingstardolans @love-mysterious-love @kayla20448 @purplelilac0223 @whotfiskate @yellowitsmendes @lanadeldolans @reblogdolan @graysdiabla @cuteunicorns11 @its-pickle @ancoraesisto @mutuallynotmutual @annyanns @beinscorpio @fallinginlove-16 @dxlansfxck @yazziemp3 @usdolans @bqbyyhoneyy @dolanficrecs @sugarfootdolan @heyits-claire @godlydolans @accalialionheart @lacydolans @starrydolan @g-e-dolan @kaiadolan @jeffxchella @mmmmmgd @livelongdolan @woeitsaly @stephdolan @dangerouslybitchyb @grayson-dolans-dangly-earring @sparklydonkeyhandsdeputy @hey-graysondobrik @cheepwine @smileygrayson @sadboidols @needysposts @soontobecool @r3sil3nc3 @chvrrydolan @ahoneybeing @daddygraysonsbitch @dolandolll @prettymuchdolansbitch @babyboydxlan @blueporschedolan @mindlessdolan @mmoonx @giggling-grayson @ethanhes @harryigprompt @ancoraesisto @kpoppindolans @dolansmith @mendesficsxbombay @peacedolantwins

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan au #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan mafia au #grayson dolan mini series #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan fanfiction

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shotosprincess · 3 years

Text

When he loves me — Iwa ♡︎ Oikawa

LISTEN TO: “ CLOUD 9 “ — BEACH BUNNY

ART: UNKNOWN ( i found it as a sticker on picsart since i couldnt find any good iwaoi screencaps so if yk who the artist is plspls lmk !! ty !! )

｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

pairing: iwa x oikawa

summary: iwa shyly plays oikawa a song he wrote on a whim ,, and years later ,, after they fell apart ,, oikawa attends one of iwa’s concerts and hears their song,, the song,, once more .

genre: angst + fluff !! <3 ugh i love oikawa my bby but i absolutely love him and iwa together sm too ajjdjjf

a/n: 3am writing for comfort innit (•̀ᴗ•́)و smhsmh it’s lowkey so dramatic ?? idk why i was feeling so melancholic ?? but i live for the yearning anyways lmao <//3

“ Hey...wanna...hear something I’ve been working on? “

Iwa’s voice shifted to one of a far softer tone, unusually uncertain of himself as he gripped the bedsheets beneath him in an anxious hold, turning away from Oikawa whilst a deep vermillion blush tainted his shy-stricken face.

The hazel-haired setter lifted his mouth into a gentle smile, skin mirroring a similar red to Iwa’s. His head lolled to the side, and Iwa swore he felt something flutter within him. The fist which he clutched the bedsheets within closed even further.

“ Sure, Iwa-chan! “

A hard gulp. Iwa swallowed his nerves down, fingers hovering over the strings of his freshly-purchased guitar, hesitant. Trembling, even.

Light wisps of brown swept just over Oikawa’s eyes as he put down the volleyball he had been mindlessly spinning, and covered Iwa’s hands with his own. He looked up with a reassuring grin, deepened-honey gaze colliding with one of the enchanting midnight sky.

“ It’s okay. It’s just me. But of course, you don’t have to play if you don’t wan— “

Iwa swats his hand away. “ Of course I wanna, dumbass! “ He barked.

With a frustrated huff, his fingers find a home amongst the sound as they begin to delicately strum the translucent strings. His eyes fell closed, lost in the music, albeit fairly cliche, as he wordlessly played the song which was most special to him.

For what reason it held such a cherished place in his heart, he did not know. Not truly, at least. Admittedly, he had written it purely on a whim, clutching onto the fleeting remnants of a foreign euphoric high. The crazed rush of fingers furiously clacking against the keyboard filled the silence of his room, lasting well into the evening. He had so much to say, so much to express, and yet it was only through the words appearing on the screen in which he could ever hope to communicate it.

He had never even planned on sharing it. After all, it was merely a crappy, rushed song put together purely by the rawness of an unknown emotion, and during ungodly hours of the night out of all times. It was nothing special, really.

To him, at least.

And yet in a hushed, timid tone, he began to sing:

“ I don’t wanna seem the way I do...but I’m confident when I’m with you... “

Oikawa’s lips parted in sheer awe. The delicate swirls of the instrumental blended flawlessly into the angelic quality of Iwa’s singing. His muscles tensed. He shook it away.

What the hell is this? Was he...nervous? No, no, it can’t be. This is Oikawa-fucking-Tooru we’re talking about!

He could do nothing but stare intently in a silent adoration as he allowed his heartbeat to meld with the smoothness of the melody, sweeping him out of Iwa-chan’s bedroom and into a whole other universe entirely. One where there exists no pain, no sadness, no fear. One where tears dried before they could even splatter upon the ground. One where everything was happy and perfect and...good.

—

IWA

Five years have passed, yet I miss him all the same. If anything, the ache has only grown to, somehow, prove itself increasingly unbearable over the time we’ve spent apart. My stare falls upon my guitar. Not the new one, which is this modern, flashy model with a bold red design, but my first-ever guitar, boasting its worn-out strings and dulled body. The hole in my heart digs itself impossibly deeper.

We had dated not long after that night—the night I played my song to him, and suddenly it became our song. We would whip it out like a handy party trick whenever we’d hangout with the rest of the team, and it was...nice to say the very least. Well, while it lasted, of course. Highschool love, teenage love, is constantly fleeting. Temporary. That was my philosophy at least, until Oikawa Tooru appeared and changed everything. I disregarded every sense of rationality, and all for the blissful rush of romance which he offered. The sneaking out, the small notes snuck into each other’s lockers, the way he draped his jacket over me when I got cold, the tender kisses shared in a darkened room.

I loved it. All of it. And when I lost him, I missed him too. All of him.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised, though. After all, teenage love is but a transient feeling, is it not? I had to drill the reiteration of my old motto back into my head when we split, so that I may never allow myself to yield to the temptations of love, or at least the attractive promise of one, ever again. Eventually, we had to go our separate ways. He pursued volleyball, and I chased relentlessly after a different growing passion of mine, though honestly rather unexpected; music.

And now here I am. Sitting backstage at my own show, waiting patiently for my cue. My foot taps a random rhythm against the floor as I mentally debate with myself whether or not my choice for the opening song truly was the best option.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

He might be watching.

Fair, but would he even recognize me? Does he even remember me at all? I mean, it’s been so long...

I think he’d remember something as sentimental as the song you first played him. I mean, you were the first guy he ever dated.

Yeah, keyword: “ dated “. He’s probably moved on by now.

Shit, do you think he’s found someone new already? What if he brought them to the show?

Nah, nah. That’s highly unlikely. Impossible, even. The latter, that is. It’s not exactly that popular of a show.

Right, you’re right. So there’s nothing to worry about. Hakuna-fuckin-matata, right?

I suck in a sharp breath as the lights come on, laughing dryly.

Hakuna-fuckin-matata.

—

OIKAWA

My hands fiddle with one another as I push my way past the busy crowd to find a spot amongst the front row. A cheery girl with astonishingly-saturated red hair and an almoat-overwhelming brightness about her, greets me. I scoff, amused.

A fangirl, no doubt. Charming.

“ Oikawa! Ohmygoshohmygosh, Oikawa Tooru!! Hi!! I’m—I’m— “

I glance at the front row, which is only a few steps away, as her blubbered words start to blur together. I laugh.

“ A fan, right? Want my autograph or something? A picture, maybe? “

Her eyes light up vastly and she begins to bounce up and down with the same enthusiasm I’ve noticed to be common among practically all fangirls.

“ YES! Ohmygosh, yesyesyesYES!! “

My grin widens as I click my blue pen, which I carry around for autographs ( oh, the pains of being famous ), and hurriedly sign my name on her collared shirt. It was a fairly pretty garment, I’ll admit, but at this moment I didn’t really care, and I’m sure neither did she, judging by the way she squealed excitedly and took a spam of what had to be a million-and-one selfies with it.

I finally find a place among the jumping people at the front, taking in the atmosphere. The lights dim, and brighter white ones turn on in their place.

The show is about to start.

—

IWA

“ Hey, everyone. I— “ The mic whines with feedback. I wince, wrapping my free hand around it and trying again.

“ I’m—I’m opening with a song that’s very dear to me. I wrote it way back in highschool, but it’s always stuck with me, kinda like a safety net...of sorts. I uh, hope you enjoy. “

Shit, why am I being so damn awkward? I’ve never been this awkward before a show. Maybe it’s because of that damn opening song. Oh well. Too late to back out now.

Irritated, I push the thought away, wetting my lips as the drowning claps and whoops from the crowd cheer me on. My hand hovers just over the strings. It’s shaking. No matter. I close my eyes, and imagine him holding them. Him encompassing my hands within the warmth of his, just like he did all those years, which were now lost in the past. Him looking at me, him telling me it’s okay. Him.

I breathe all my nerves out.

Him.

And I begin to play.

The awkwardness melts away almost instantaneously as I pour every dripping ounce of my heart out into the song, the music swelling wildly with every emotion I had forced in for the dreariness of these five years. My eyes shoot open when the chorus hits. I feel like I’m king of the world.

I catch a familiar set of eyes. Richly brown. Deep.

Oh shit.

My breath hitches when I realize who they belong to; Him. His. He-

No, no, it couldn’t be. Could it?

It felt too real, as if I’ve somehow managed to reduce his very existence to nothing but romanticized self indulgent daydreams of what we once had, woven into the vast vagueness of song lyrics with a naïve hope of what could’ve been. And now here he was, at my concert of all places, for god knows what reason. The colourful lights fell upon his face in the most flattering manner, though admittedly I suppose anything would be flattering on him either way. But under this light especially, at my concert, he looked nothing short of perfect. Of lovely.

But of course he was. This was Oikawa-fucking-Tooru, after all.

The chorus hits with a sharp accent. I belt with all that I am, for the boy who took a rough sketch of a dream and made it reality, for the boy who found an unmatched sense of home among those of his highschool volleyball team, for the boy who wound up so foolishly falling in love with his best friend. For him, for my fans, but most of all, for me.

“ But when he loves me, I feel like I’m floating, when he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody— “

I maintain eye contact with him. It’s scary, burning holes into my tattered soul, which I had pieced together so carefully with cathartic lyrics scratched into the pages of creased notebooks. I’m secretly scared that his gaze will somehow break it all down again. But that’s when I finally understand; it’s him. This, this song, it’s about him. It’s always been about him. There will be no one else, could be no one else for me. That...sheer elation, the unfiltered emotion which sparked this song to begin with—I understood now. That was love. More specifically, love which my chest held for Oikawa. It’s as if I’ve been harshly disillusioned to see what I’d been unconsciously denying all these years, seeing him here. It’s always been Oikawa. How could I not have known? After all, I’m constantly recalling the day he held me in a tight embrace after one of our best matches, happy tears staining my damp jersey as he whispered in my ear the praise I’ve subconsciously always wished to hear.

“ You did good. “

Though it seems painfully mundane, simple to anyone else, it was...different, coming from his lips, hearing it in his voice. I took that compliment and kept it close to me for all eternity, immortalizing it within the varying notes of this song. I stare right back at him with a newfound fervour, an unknown intent, a epiphanic strength.

“ Even when we fade eventually to nothing, you will always be my favourite form of lovely. “

His eyes widen.

—

OIKAWA

My heart clenches as Iwa freely powers through the rest of the song. But during this moment, it feels as though it was created solely for us. As if the universe, as if fate itself had decided that despite the harshness of this world, and every little force fighting to keep us apart, this one moment, if anything, was ours. Truly ours. Our song, our moment. Ours. Time suspended itself indefinitely as the onyx hearth of his gaze finally met with mine. Unexpectedly enough, it stayed there.

And everything fell into place.

The song didn’t take me to a paradise without tears, or pain, or sorrow anymore. It took me to a place with Iwa in it. I realize now that...I want the tears. I want the pain. I want the grief. I want the good and the bad and the light and the dark, so long as I can have Iwa there with me through it all. I want him. All of him. I’ve want to love him enough to love his “ unglam “ moments and his admirable aspects all the same. I want to be there with him through every body-wrecking tear, every hearty laugh, and every glimmer of happiness. I want to be able to see the face he makes during a scary movie, to open an umbrella for him during the rain. I want to see the sunlight glow upon his cheek, I want to count the stars with him until I fall asleep. I want everything about him, for to me, he is everything. And it’s this song...this damned song which brought it all back.

It was ours. And I realize now...it was about...me. I mean, I’ll admit that I’ve always been a little more on the conceited side, but how could you deny it? It had to be. It had to. Had to. I wanted it to, at least. I wanted it to be about me so desperately, it sent a cold pain through my chest. A single, lonely tear falls down my cheek as the crowd around me erupts into a sea of laughter and off-tune singing from the audience.

What if it wasn’t? I mean, you guys broke up. You told him you moved on. Yes, it was a lie to lessen the pain, but he didn’t know that. What if it was about someone else completely and you’d just been an idiot this whole time? What if—

The concert comes to a close much faster than I thought it would, much faster than I would’ve ever wished for it to. I don’t know what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, but my legs move before I even have a chance to question them. I’ve always been one to think before acting, hence why I’m such a star on the court, but this time, my emotions seem to be taking over. I don’t know what’s come over me, what this unusual, hot feeling is. It’s exciting and intimidating all at once, and I hate it because I know what it must be. In a hot flash, I find myself standing at the door of Iwa’s changing room. How many bodyguards I must have recklessly shoved out of the way to get here in the blur of adrenaline, I don’t even want to begin to think about.

My hand freezes over the door. “ Iwa “ is engraved in bold gold letters with a deeply-etched star sticking out at the bottom. Taking a deep breath, I knock frantically.

“ I-Iwa-chan? It’s uh...it’s Oikawa. “

—

IWA

I pause in the midst of buttoning up my shirt. A solid three are left undone. But his voice...how could I ignore it? Ignore him? I haven’t heard his voice in what feels like eternity, but I’d be kidding myself if I had said I’d forgotten it. The constant yearning was always so irritating. Such a pain. At least it made for decent music, I mean, I’ve been booking shows. But alas, one problem before another.

“ O-Oikawa? “ I slowly pace to the doorknob as I twist it open.

Holy shit.

It is him after all. He hasn’t changed a bit. He remains the charming, handsome man I remember him to be, even after all this time has passed.

“ How’d you get—why are you here? “

“ Iwa, there’s...there’s just...there’s something I need to ask. “

“ Huh? “

“ That song...our song.... “

“ Shit, right! I, uh...sorry. I didn’t ask you about it because I honestly didn’t expect you to show up at all. It’s been what, five years? “ I stumble subtly over my words, rubbing the back of my neck.

He turns away sheepishly. Almost...longingly, even.

“ Yeah...it has. “

He clicks his tongue.

“ Who, uh...who was that song about? The curiosity’s been eating at me. “

A heat rises to my cheeks. A pause.

“ I—It—Ugh, fuck it. “

I’ve never been the best at talking directly to Oikawa, not since I realized that what I felt for him extended to something past the bounds of friendship. So I decided to do the only thing I knew to do in that moment—show him instead.

My lips crash against his as he slams the door behind him. The palpable tension between us is shattered immediately, and everything is faded out into insignificance. All that matters is the man in my arms, the man I’d been longing so desperately, so hopelessly for all this fucking time. I kiss him against the smoothness of the door, hands immediately trailing to his soft locks. I twirl and twine them as I see flashes, bright hues of heaven itself. His lips upon mine are the most perfect fit. His touch is painfully intoxicating, and I show him, wordlessly, with an unparalleled fervour—just who the song was about. He melts into it, matching my energy with a foreign sense of passion.

—

OIKAWA

“ Do you think...the universe is gonna try to separate us again? “ I ask softly, voice barely even a whisper. Tears wet my lashes at the very thought of being without him again. For those five years, though I was living my dream...it didn’t feel complete. Not without him. I blink them away aggressively, focusing on the night sky above us. My head is resting in his lap, and we’re simply...existing together beneath the curtain of darkened pools which hung above our twined bodies.

Iwa strokes my hair nonchalantly as he interlocks his fingers with mine. “ Of course. It always will. But we found each other didn’t we? And even after...even after this life has passed and we’re reduced to nothing but ash, I’m convinced we’ll meet again. One way or another. “

He tucks a straying tuft of hair from brushing my lashes.

“ Even then...even then you’ll still be my favourite form of lovely. Or whatever. “ He scoffs at his own over-poetic response, looking away with a tiny smirk.

“ Okay, Mr. Songwriter! “ I tease, nudging his side in a playful manner.

He rolls his eyes, bending down to kiss me once more.

For the first time in a long time, I feel complete. I’m on cloud 9.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fic #haikyuu oikawa #haikyuu!!#fanfic #oikawa oneshot #oikawa scenarios #oikawa fic #iwaizumi x oikawa #iwaoi #iwaoi fic #iwaizumi imagine #iwazumi imagines #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime

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